#its semi inspired by something i read in a book a long time ago (the book wasn't great from what i remember but the kiss thing was cute)

[ladytauria]

Jaytimkon 1 and 48 for the send me a number and I'll send. Another ask for kisses 💖💖💖 ily youre awesome

ahh ilu too <3333 thank u so much for the prompt!!

this is both my first time writing kon and my first time writing his pov, so i hope it reads okay~

>> AO3 <<

Jason’s the tallest.

He doesn’t beat Kon by much—an inch, maybe two—but he’s like. Way taller than Tim. Which he loves taking advantage of, using the height difference to tease and aggravate Tim until Tim decides to bring him down to his level. Or below.

Kon…

Obviously he’s known the whole time that that’s always been Jason’s end goal; making Tim yank him down, or pin him, or climb him like a tree. Kon can’t blame him. Tim’s cute when he’s irritated; all huffy sighs and puffed cheeks and narrowed eyes. And, of course. Watching Tim put Jason in his place—or being the one Tim puts into place—is always hot. But… recently, Kon’s been thinking. Watching. There’s something about the way Jason melts when Tim pushes him around that’s… different from the way he usually melts when they push him around.

It’s got him in the mood to try an experiment.

He hovers a few inches off the ground, watching Jason pepper Tim’s face with playful kisses, while Tim scrunches his face up, clearly failing at trying to look annoyed. His mouth is twitching upward too much. This is just the start of the game—Jason will escalate until Tim finally gives in and does what he wants.

Which means it’s the perfect time for Kon’s test.

He floats higher and drifts over to them, giving Jason plenty of opportunity to finish his kisses. He has a very specific pattern he follows—one to each cheek,  then the chin, the nose, either the corners of the eyes or closed eyelids, and then, finally, the center of the forehead. Sometimes he’ll repeat it a few times, but it’s always the same pattern.

He waits until the third forehead kiss, and then says, “Hey. Where are my kisses?”

Jason tilts his head back to look at him, a cheeky grin on his face. He holds out a hand. “Come a little closer and find out.” He wiggles his brows a little, which never fails to make Kon laugh and Tim roll his eyes.

Kon takes Jason’s hand, drifting down until he’s just head and shoulders taller than Jason. “Hm… Nah. I think you should come and get ‘em yourself, Jaybabe.”

Behind him, Tim grins.

Jason rolls his eyes—a smile tugging at his mouth. “Oh, well, if that’s how you want to play it, farm boy.” He lets go of Kon’s hand, fisting the collar of his t-shirt and tugging. Normally, Kon would go with it; allow himself to be tugged down and into whatever kind of kiss his boyfriends were in the mood for.

Today, he stays right where he is.

Jason huffs. A flush spreads over his face; bright, vivid pink. It’s charming. Kon is charmed, totally unable to keep from smiling as, finally, Jason rolls up onto his toes, arms locking around Kon’s neck. He slots their mouths together, feeling the way Jason shivers, first, and then melts—Kon’s arms reflexively settling on his waist, keeping him from dropping back onto his heels.

His hands splay on Jason’s sides; fingers spread wide in the way he knows Jason likes. Makes him feel almost small, he s—

Small.

Oh.

Duh.

Jason likes feeling small.

It seems so obvious now. He should probably test it, a little more though. Just to see. So he cups Jason’s jaw with one hand, tilting his head back a little bit more, raising up a little higher, looming a little more. Jason moans, a sweet, breathy thing. Kon hums, kissing him a little deeper, licking into his mouth until all he can taste is Jason.

He doesn’t pull back until he can tell Jason’s legs are trembling; his heart thrumming.

Jason lands back on his heels. He’s a pretty sight; no longer vivid pink but a deep red. It brings out the teal of his eyes.

Kon just has one more thing he wants to try.

He cups Jason’s face with both hands.

Left cheek—right cheek—chin—a sharp intake of breath as he kisses Jason’s nose, lashes fluttering before his eyes close, letting Kon kiss first his left eye, then the right.

He plants the last on his forehead, lingering, and then, finally, lets go, landing on his feet once more.

Jason wobbles for a moment, blinking again—almost dazed. Then he looks back at Kon again.The smile Jason gives him is one he’s never seen before—small and sweet and almost shy. It’s one of the prettiest things Kon’s ever seen, and he knows, immediately, that he’ll do whatever it takes to see it again.

[ 50 types of kisses ]

[beegomess]

T.N. || Summer wine

Summary: You and Theodore spent the summer vacation with his family on the Italian coast, something you definitely loved. However, your boyfriend could be somewhat insistent when it came to having you and your beautiful body near him for so long. Warnings: obscenities, +18, smut, relationship established.

A/N: Inspired by @motherearthlovesus imagine/moodboards about spending the holidays at Theo's summer house in Italy. I loved it so much and I had to write about...💕💕

Orders are open!

The sun threw its golden rays with a magical intensity over the Italian coast, making the turquoise sea shine like an immense sparkling emerald that extended to infinity. The heat vibrated in the air, creating a slight tremor on the surface of the water, and the gentle breeze that blew from the ocean brought the salty and fresh aroma of the waves. Every time the breeze passed, it caressed the skin like a touch of velvet, offering a gentle relief to the scorching heat of the day.

You were relaxed on the lounger by the pool, with the crystal clear water reflecting the clear sky and accentuating the feeling of tranquility that surrounded the environment. The heat of the sun seemed almost palpable, heating your skin and making the pool an irresistible oasis of freshness. Your eyes, semi-closed and shining under the sun's rays, slowly slid through the pages of the book you held, each word unfolding in a hypnotic rhythm.

The scenery around him was a visual and sensory delight: the waves beat lazily on the rocks in the distance, emitting a soft and rhythmic sound that mixed with the distant murmur of seabirds. The warmth and peace of the environment created a perfect refuge.

While you were completely immersed in reading, Theodore was at the edge of the pool, his forearms resting relaxed on the edge, with crystal clear water running down his arms and creating small waves. His shoulders, slightly tilted forward, revealed a relaxed posture as he watched his every move with a mixture of affection and worship. The heat of the sun highlighted the tanned texture of her skin, and her slightly misaligned hair completed the look.

When you raised your eyes and found his gaze, the affectionate and fun glow made you smile. Theodore, with a charming smile, approached and, in a sincere tone, said in Italian:

- Sei così bella oggi.

You smiled, touched by the compliment.

- I'm thirsty. - you mentioned, and he laughed, with a look that promised something more.

- How about we go to the kitchen? I promise to prepare something refreshing for you.

You followed him to the kitchen, which was integrated into the external environment of the house by large glass doors that opened to the garden. As soon as you entered the environment, Theodore turned around and pulled you for a deeper and more passionate kiss. The kiss was intense, a moment full of desire and connection, and you felt the heat intensify as it deepened.

Soon, his hands were around his neck, at the same time that he put you sitting on the white bench there in the middle in the middle of laughter and heavy breaths as the kisses went down his neck.

However, the kitchen door opened abruptly and Charlotte, Theodore's sister, came in, a little surprised to see you.

- Ah, sorry for interrupting. - Charlotte exclaimed, trying to hide a fun smile. - I just came to get something to drink.

- Hadn't you gone out with your friends? - Theodore asked with a note of irritation in his voice, as you came down from where you were with a flushed face and a racing heart.

- Yes, three hours ago... - The girl responds as if it were obvious and fun to see the embarrassment in you.

- So, how was your afternoon? - You decide to change the subject, while Theodore will finally make the drink he promised you earlier.

- It was great, but it looks like you were busy around here. I hope I didn't get in the way too much. - Charlotte, with a welcoming smile, took a bottle of juice.

- No, not really... - You clear your throat by noticing a clear malicious smile on Charlotte's face while she drinks the juice. - What did you do?

With the mood relaxing again, Charlotte joined you, bringing a touch of lightness and humor to the moment.

That night, Theodore made a special dinner for you. He cooked very carefully, and the aroma of the dishes mixed with the breeze of the night. Dinner was on the balcony, on a small table with a white towel and candles, which gave a soft light.

While they were eating, the conversation flowed naturally and the laughter filled the air, creating an atmosphere of relaxation and pleasure. As dinner progressed, you watched the reflection of the stars in the sea water, which sparkled under the brightness of the moon, creating a magical and quiet scenery. The murmur of the waves and the freshness of the night contributed to the feeling of peace and contentment that involved everyone there.

The next morning, you woke up slowly, surrounded by a cozy heat. The sun rose lazily on the horizon, dyeing the sky with soft shades of orange and pink. The first rays of light invaded the room, filtering through the white and almost transparent curtains, which swayed gently with the light breeze of dawn.

Lying on the bed, you felt Theodore's comfortable warmth next to you. His body, still sleepy, settled in the vicinity of him, while the heat of the sun entering through the windows warmed the environment, creating a pleasant contrast with the cool breeze of the morning. The soft sounds of the world awakening outside, combined with the delicate movements of the curtains, formed a symphony of serenity.

The golden glow that flooded the room seemed to amplify the feeling of peace, and the soft touch of sunlight on the skin mixed with the heat that emanated from Theodore, creating an atmosphere of tranquility and contentment.

You turned slightly on the bed, allowing your eyes to rest on Theodore. He was still sleeping, the serene expression, the features of the face softened by peaceful sleep. Your lips were ajar, and you could see the slight movement of your chest going up and down with each calm breath. The soft light of dawn caressed his face, highlighting his features in an almost angelic way.

While you were watching him, Theodore began to wake up slowly. His eyelashes trembled slightly before opening his eyes, revealing that deep look that always made his heart beat a little faster. Without saying a word, he sketched a soft smile, still half asleep, and extended his arm, pulling you gently against him.

His body found his naturally, fitting perfectly into the curve of his arms. Theodore squeezed the hug, engaging and protective, while his fingers slowly traced the lines of his back, as if he wanted to prolong that moment of closeness. The warmth of his body was comforting, and you felt even more welcomed as he whispered, with a hoarse voice of sleep.

- Good morning... - He tilted his head to leave a soft kiss on top of yours, his face still relaxed by the slow awakening.

His body, which until that moment, was covered by nothing more than a white shirt of Theodore, was caressed from under the fabric. The affection started slowly, but soon you started to feel your fingers going down more on your back, then waist and hips.

He pressed you a little more against him while placing light kisses on his face and neck. His hands traveled to Theodore's warm skin, feeling him tense under his touch, until you decide to start a slow but warm kiss.

His tightness on your skin increases as your kiss deepens. And in a quick movement, you see him between your legs, leaning over you and savoring every piece of exposed skin.

One of Theodore's hands climbed over his belly, groping his body until he found his breasts, you sighed as you felt a slight squeeze in one of them. The shirt you wore was folded and accumulated over his hand.

A smile formed on Theo's face immediately when he heard you sigh and whimper with such simple touches. In addition, the fact that he has his body pressing against his hot and humid core made him delirious quickly.

Theodore moved his face away just to observe his expression when he lowered his hand again, heading towards the middle of his legs. His bright and sleepy eyes looked at him with expectation.

- Do you want that, love? - His low voice invaded your thoughts quickly, making you nod positively. - So, say, let's go...

- Theo, please... - You whisper, causing chills all over his body, completely euphoric about the idea of fucking you in every possible way. - Please, I need...

A smile appeared again on Theodore's face when he heard you and lowered his fingers to his folds, realizing how wet you were already, completely under him now. A low moan escaped you when you felt it rub your nerve point, it started slowly to provoke you, I wanted to see how far you could stand it.

Therefore, he introduced one of his long fingers into you without stopping what he was doing. You moaned a little louder in surprise.

- Lower, dear, we don't want to be interrupted again, do we? - Theodore said if a somewhat possessive way, it was as if he waited too long for that. - I can't stand being interrupted anymore whenever I want to fuck you.

The movements in you only increased, the wet noise echoed in every room, your warm face threw itself back whenever you felt the knot form at the foot of your belly.

- Damn, you're sucking my fingers... - And in a matter of minutes you were a complete mess, your liquids spilled on the white sheets while Theodore shamelessly stared at the reaction of his body. - Yes, bella, come on, keep it up...

Your breath failed when you felt yourself spilled on the fingers of your boyfriend, who looked hypnotized at your orgasm happening, trying to prolong it even more.

While his discharge was happening, Theodore got rid of the only piece of clothing that prevented him from finally having you. Suddenly, you feel him stretch you little by little, loving the feeling of having him inside you.

- Damn... - Theodore murmurs as soon as he gets to the bottom. It positions your face on your neck as it starts with slow movements so that you get used to the increased stimulation, absorbing every moan of yours close to your ear.

- That's so good, Theo... - you say and your voice comes out a little more tearful than you would like. - Faster, please...

Your words just make it clear to him that you would no longer mind being careful with the noises or discomforts, so Theodore leaned on his arms again, seeing how you smiled maliciously at every beat of your hips, at the same time that your eyes rolled.

Theodore holds the head of the bed as a support, pushing the body against his own at a frantic pace. He just discounted all the desire he had accumulated since the day before, when he saw you in that pair of bikinis perfectly fitted to his body.

His voice mixed with the noise of the bed hitting the wall, while his other hand held one of his legs, with the intention of making his body stable.

It was amazing how much he seemed to know his body, hitting the exact places at an exact rhythm that made you even closer to another orgasm.

- You accept me so well, dear... You don't know how much I would do that all the time if I could. - The nicknames he used with you only gave more stimulus. Theodore felt you get close once again, hypnotizing with your face writhing with pleasure once again. - Make a mess, bella...

- Theo... - His voice was whispered, completely destroyed.

Your body writhed once again, squeezing Theodore and taking him along with you, your mind completely lost in him again, feeling every drop of the two of you drip between your legs.

He moved away from your body after a few seconds, coming out of you, also panting and convinced of having taken it twice. Your tired body sought refuge in it, you nestled just to catch your breath.

Theodore placed a kiss on the top of his head while you supported her on his chest, you could hear his heart beating fast, his tanned body had small droplets of sweat, just like yours.

He took you to the shower after that, you spent more than an hour in the bathtub, just talking and laughing.

While you were finishing breakfast at the same table on the balcony of the interior dinner, Charlotte appeared at the door, with her pajamas crupted, shaggy hair and her face swollen with sleep.

- Why did they wake me up so early? - The girl grumbles, dragging her slippers to one of the chairs, bothered by the sunlight. - It's still new hours.

- Don't overdo it, Charlotte. We didn't even make noise with the coffee. - Theodore answers, while drinking a sip of his cup.

- I was talking about the knocks on the wall, actually. - The girl replied, without realibing what it could be. Your face flushed and your eyes widened, while you choked on the food. - What were they doing, anyway?

- Just hanging a painting in the room, to decorate... - Theo responds with a malicious smile directed at you, taking advantage of his sister's slowness.

- You two are crazy. - She grumbles while serving herself a glass of juice.

____________________________

masterlist

xoxo, bebe💌🫶🏼

[0wl3tt3]

Reflection on my practice (for future me)

Hello, so I wanted to do write what has been my practice so far for future me to read and reflect, I discover a lot for myself, so this might be long so please sit and relax.

Catholicism

I grew up Roman Catholic for most of my life, living and breathing on those values, going to Catholic school and going to church but it doesn't really have an affect for me, I didn't feel connected to Catholicism, so I was semi atheist (I didn't know that Agnostic exist) for most of my early teenage years until I was in grade 10, where I was kinda chilling in class, I wasn't interested with the subject so I just pulled out my phone and thought it would be fun to search on tumblr about witchcraft and it really interested me. Everything about it looked fun and maybe I wanted to dipped my toes in the water. Later on I created an account specifically for that! I enjoyed it as a newbie liking the vibes and looked to find Paganism

Kemeticism

Anyone who followed 15-16 year old me will remember I was a Kemetic pagan, I worshipped Anubis and Ra (Along with Heru-Sa-Aset) but I was close to Anubis, I prayed to him after my dog died which did started my path to paganism where I now just denounce myself silently as a Catholic. I prayed and gave him offerings that I have access to and just let him guide me to cope. I started being open to my practice to my friends as well which they all really support! I never said anything to my family knowing what they believe was that I'm just catholic.

I really do thank Anubis and the gods I did pray for those hardships of my own mistakes and leading me to comfort even when I'm arrogant. It inspired me to admire history more that I ever did, I wanted to read more about old religions, I wanted to just eat every single information I can find tiring to be the best version of what I should do and value.

Hellenism and Athena

I've already told this but I wasn't Kemetic pagan anymore now, I adored Anubis but it felt like my time of mourning had passed and it felt like I might have to part my ways with Kemeticism. Its a beautiful religion and the people there are lovely! but I just don't follow it as a follower anymore and I was called to Hellenism.

I wasn't gonna lie and say Hellenism didn't intimidate me, it did, I knew to never take the myths literally for me to not act dumb but there were a lot of things I had to learn now that I wasn't following Kemeticism. I wasn't sure who to look, well, for a bit until I settled with Athena which makes sense.

Listen, I am a girl that loved the greek monsters, dragons, drawing, and war history, of course I'm gonna pray to Athena!

I felt like she was the goddess for me and later became the kinda the only goddess I prayed for when it comes to tests and being strong. Sometimes I don't do prayers because of school and my own laziness, I'm happy that she's patient with me and a tarot reading by a friend, where I asked "What's Athena thinking about me? I haven't done much for her..." "Talk to me more! and stop procrastinating!"

Is just... I STILL THINK ABOUT IT LIKE OH SWEET GODDESS THANK YOU BUT ALSO DON'T CALL ME OUT😭😭😭😭/j

But I really do thank her for that, it's just so sweet for me to know she is around even when I'm not always acknowledging her.

Now and future

I think one, buy a fucking tarot deck for myself and just talk more, sometimes when no one is around I just talk out of no where to her which I see as my baby steps to coming back since last and the early months I was pretty dry on my worship and practice. This summer I hope I can read history books and just talk about it to her, start doing divination and do something about that rain water from one year ago lmao.

I think this year will be witchy and pagan for me! I'm excited for shenanigans to ensue with my irl witch friends!

And I will say it again, thank you to the deities I worshipped before and now for guiding me to where I am now, no matter how chaotic it is, you're there for me.

So for future me, let's do this!!!!!

[irrelevantwriter]

Unspoken

Pairing: Rio (Good Girls) x Female Reader/You

Rating: Explicit, NSFW

Warnings: Language, vaginal fingering, public sex, car sex, unprotected vaginal sex, mild choking, mention of bodily fluids, shitty exes, petty Rio (yaaaass)

Word Count: 5.8K

Summary: Part 6. Feelings were shared. Where does that leave you and Rio? A dinner with your ex? A car in a dark parking lot? 

A/N: The last part is here! Though as I said yesterday I am definitely not calling this the end. I have lots of ideas for Rio and I’ve thought about adding to this in the future as inspiration hits. I’ve also thought about developing a Rio x OFC fic and/or something for Beth x Rio. I’ve had a lot of fun writing and exploring his character so I’m nowhere near close to done. And I also need to shoutout the ladies from the discord for this part. They suggested it and I ran with it (as I do). So big thank you to @woahitslucyylu, @whatupitshuff, and @fvckthisbxtchup! You inspired this. Be proud of yourselves. Anyway, I hope you guys like it. Feedback is that good shit. 💗

*Read Part 1 here

*Read Part 2 here

*Read Part 3 here

*Read Part 4 here

*Read Part 5 here

*Give and Take series masterlist

*Masterlist in bio.

*********************

He sighed, turning off the engine and checking his phone one last time for messages. The restaurant lot was full, patrons shuffling in and out of the newest establishment in downtown Detroit. It was in a historic building that had obviously recently been renovated, though efforts had been made to keep its old world charm. The restaurant was a place he’d yet to visit and this impromptu pop-up offered the perfect opportunity for him to do so.

Rio exited his vehicle into the cool air of the night. It wasn’t frigid, but it was enough for those outside to don a jacket. He stuffed his hands into his pockets as he made his way to the entrance, noting the stylish fashions of most of the restaurant's occupants. He didn’t worry about the supposed dress code. Wearing black often gave him an air of sophistication, even with the tattoo splashed across his throat. It was a duality he’d mastered over the years. The tattoo kept him grounded to his roots. His nature. His business. The wardrobe kept him aligned with the civilian world. People would often eye his throat warily, suspicion clear in their gaze. But one look at the clean lines of his pressed shirt and somehow they’d come to the conclusion that he’d made a mistake as a young kid. Got involved in the wrong crowd. Hadn’t gotten around to getting the hideous atrocity on his neck removed. They believed what they wanted to believe.

Cowards.

He smiled at the passing elderly couple as he held the door open for them, their smiles making their eyes crinkle at the edges. They probably thought he worked there. He stepped through the threshold, taking in the dim lighting and soothing melody of jazz that filtered through the space. His eyes scanned the open area with practiced diligence until he found what he was looking for amongst the black booths that ran the length of the right wall. They were high and designed for privacy, but he could spot your face anywhere.

The hostess greeted him and he politely gestured to the booth you sat at, easing by the podium as she took a moment to trail her eyes along his body. He smirked at the blatant attempt at flirtation, not bothering to return the sentiment. Instead, he weaved through the aisles of tables as he made his way towards you.

Your brow was tensed, your lips pursed. The discomfort showed on your features, all the way down to your stiffened shoulders. He watched as you took a sip from your wine, nodding along to whatever the person across from you had said. When he came into view, your eyes widened, almost comically so. He grinned, finding your shock amusing. It was the exact reaction he was going for.

“Hey mama, sorry I’m late.” He announced as he made it to the table. He ignored the couple sitting with you and leaned down to press a kiss to your temple, feeling you sway into it despite your obvious surprise.

“Uh...h-hi.” You choked out, shifting over so that he could slip in next to you.

He shed his jacket as he sat down, pulling you close once he’d gotten comfortable. You let him maneuver you, still trying to understand why he was there. He could see the slight panic in your eyes, as if he were here for business purposes, crashing a dinner as a strategic move. But that couldn’t have been farther from the truth.

His eyes finally met Paul’s, your ex, and then slid over to his fiancé’s at his left. They both looked just as stunned as you, except for the displeasure that radiated from Paul’s gaze and onto him. His fiancé, Erica, he thought her name was, looked intrigued; curious about his arrival.

“Sup, man…” Rio greeted, extending his hand for Paul to take. He let it hang in the air for a moment, eyes trying to remain unflinching against his. After only a second, the man broke eye contact. He reluctantly took Rio’s hand and shook it, his palm sweaty and warm.

“Who is this?” Erica questioned after she realized no one was going to introduce him.

“Oh, um...sorry. This is Rio.” You replied shakily, looking at him as if trying to convince yourself that he wasn’t a figment of your imagination.

He noticed your nervousness and rested his left hand on your bare knee, gently squeezing in silent reassurance. He felt you relax immediately, your body uncoiling beside his and once again seeking out his touch.

“Nice to meet you.” Rio smoothly directed to Erica, taking her offered hand. She smiled back in return, her lips painted a vivid pink. It was a harsh shade and one that made her look like she’d been playing dress-up. He knew from the comments you’d made to him that Erica was not the woman you’d caught Paul with during your marriage. It’d been someone different. Someone from his firm. But you’d quickly pieced together that there had been many throughout the years. All slightly younger and the exact opposite to you in appearance.

Rio let his eyes covertly take in the woman across from him. She wasn’t unattractive. But she also wasn’t someone he’d ever think about leaving you for.  

“You’ve met Paul. And this is Erica.” You stated, hand gesturing to the uncomfortable-looking couple across the table.

Rio nodded in their direction, Paul’s stare still unmoving. He sat straight and rigidly, the arm that sat around Erica’s shoulders now taut and awkward looking. He found satisfaction in that. He let his own arm rest comfortably across your shoulders, his fingers dancing along your upper arm in soothing patterns. He felt you shiver in response.

“We didn’t know you were coming.” Erica said with a smile, giggling for whatever reason.

“Oh yeah, last minute change of plans.” He propped his chin into his hand and met your eyes, seeing the relief in them.

You’d told him about the dinner three nights ago when he’d been at your house. He was in your bed, lounging against the headboard after he’d fucked you on the stairs. And then once again on the dining table. You were checking your phone, mumbling curses to yourself when he’d asked you what was wrong. You’d complained about your ex and how he was now suggesting a dinner alone with you and his fiancé to “talk some things over”. The whole thing seemed innocuous enough to him, but you’d insisted Paul had an ulterior motive, which according to you, never meant anything good. You’d been worried ever since. Anxious about having dinner alone with them and dreading the reason he wanted to meet.

Rio had funneled the information out, not giving it much thought because your ex was none of his business. But something had struck him the night before when you’d called. He’d been going over some of his books, mind completely focused on numbers, when his phone rang. You were in the bathtub, voice tinged with ease and alcohol. Just wanted to hear your voice, you’d said. And for some unknown reason, that sliver of vulnerability made his chest feel tight. He hadn’t stopped thinking about it since.

The newest development in your situation was slow-going. After that night in his car and the semi-proclamation of feelings, you’d both taken cues from the other, waiting for someone to speak up and declare...something. None of that had happened though. What had happened was amazing sex on the regular and sporadic outings to dine. He preferred not to call them dates because they really hadn’t been. They were usually moments right after a round of rigorous sex when neither of you had eaten. It was usually a decision agreed upon mutually and without fanfare. Just two people who were hungry and accompanying the other. The barest of human needs. Just like the sex. It was satiation.

But even he knew that there was an underlying current of unsaid words. Which is why your tipsy admission had startled him. For so long you’d both denied what was so obvious. It was practically a subconscious act now. And he realized, as long as he let you dictate the speed, you’d come to him. As long as he didn’t push or ask for more, you’d show up. And you had. So now, so was he.

“Something to drink?” The waiter asked, interrupting the tense moment.

“Vodka on the rocks, please.” Rio replied, the waiter nodding and disappearing into the fray.

“So, Rio…” Paul finally spoke up, clearing his throat as he straightened his tie. It seemed he’d found his voice. “I take it you don’t actually deal with home plumbing.” He said the sentence snidely and with a poignant glance in your direction. “So what is it that you do?” He finished, swirling the amber liquid in his glass.

He could feel you tense up beside him.

“I own a couple of businesses.”

“What kind of businesses?” Paul retorted, an eyebrow raised in doubt.

“The kind that do business.”

A moment of silence stretched out as Paul took in the nonanswer. Rio could see the wheels working in his head, see him weighing the pros and cons of arguing with him on the matter. The man opened his mouth, more than likely to continue to probe, but Erica beat him to the punch.

“How’d you guys meet?” She implored with an excited gleam, clearly hoping for a magical meet-cute moment that had never happened.

“Bar bathroom.” Rio said with a smug smile, enjoying the sputtered cough you expelled.

“He means outside of a bar bathroom. We sorta ran into each other.” You hastily lied, biting into your lip when his arm shifted off your shoulders and under the table, landing on your knee once again. He let his palm glide over the swatch of skin afforded to him by your dress, feeling your thighs clench together the higher he got.

“That’s adorable.” Eric chimed in, a genuine smile plastered on her pink lips. The same couldn’t be said for Paul, who looked as if he’d tasted something bitter.

Rio snickered because nothing about what either of you had been doing in the time since you’d met was adorable. It was the exact opposite. And he thrived off of it.

He turned his attention on you, hovering close to your ear, his fingers trailing along your inner thigh as he ignored the other diners at the table. “You good, mama?” He rasped, knowing what the action did to you.

Your eyes weren’t on him. They were shifting anxiously between Paul and Erica, concerned with the proximity of his lips and hand. Of course, they couldn’t see his arm disappearing beneath your dress, but they did notice the intimacy of the moment. Erica’s eyes looked on in admiration while Paul’s darted to anywhere but the two of you.

“Yeah.” You breathlessly replied, your own hand coming to rest on his. You squeezed and then set your gaze on his, reassuring him.

“You sure?”

His eyes flicked to your mouth, the flesh wet from both your lipstick and your tongue. He licked his own as he got lost in thoughts of tasting you.

You nodded, your eyes following the movements of his tongue, seemingly just as entranced as he was.  

The moment was shattered with the waiter bringing Rio’s drink and taking food orders. It was for the better. He couldn’t very well fuck you on the table, though he’d save that fantasy for nights when he couldn’t have you.

Everyone kept the conversion polite and vague, choosing to stay away from certain topics. It was rigid and uncomfortable for everyone involved, unsurprisingly so. The subject transitioned to the kids, upcoming events and appointments being the main points. The food arrived and Rio busied himself with eating an exquisite dinner. The food was delicious and he had a fleeting thought about investing into something like this. He owned the bar and had arrangements with other small businesses, but he’d been hesitant to enter the restaurant realm. It was tricky. There were always new places offering something no other eatery could. He’d have to get with the owner, Joel Pinet. Rio knew him from around the neighborhood. His own bar was only a couple of blocks away and he’d met Joel on more than one occasion, the man a regular in his establishment.

“What’d you mean you won’t be here this summer?”

Your question brought him back to the moment, the irritation in your voice making him alert. His dark eyes settled on Paul as he twirled his fork in his pasta. The action annoyed Rio.

“Erica and I are going to Europe over the summer.”

“He promised to take me.” She chimed in, giddy and blissfully unaware of the anger mounting between the exes.

Your narrowed gaze bounced between the two, your irritation palpable. You were stiff as your spine straightened against the booth. “What about the kids? The summer is when they have time with you. They look forward to it.”

Paul raised his hand in a placating gesture and Rio noticed how your lips pinched together in response, as if physically restraining yourself from saying something. You were a better person than he was. The man across from him was barely that, and barely one that deserved your attention, much less the wasted love of a ruined marriage.

“I’ll make it up to them. But we’ve had this trip planned for months.”

“And you didn’t think to tell me that?”

“Because I knew how you’d react.”

“Yeah, because the summer is your time, Paul.”

Paul sighed, as if frustrated with your reasonable argument. “So we’ll switch. You’ve had to have my help with alternating weekends when stuff comes up.”

“For work. Not a trip to fucking Europe.” You seethed, voice low but spewing with venom.

Rio only looked on, silently admiring your ability to not beat the guy’s ass. He deserved it. He was a piece of shit husband and an even bigger piece of shit father.

“The kids will be fine. We’ll be gone for a few weeks and then they can come stay with us for the remainder of the summer.” He brushed off your concerns, seeing no real issue with forgoing time with his children to peruse foreign streets.

Rio scoffed at the boldness. The action didn’t go unnoticed.

“Something to say?” Paul directed at him, his chest posturing in a show of male dominance.

Rio laughed lowly, amused by the man’s antics. How you’d ever ended up with someone like that was a mystery to him. After seeing your determination, your fire, Rio had been enthralled. He’d recognized something raw inside of you. Something that matched him. Outwardly, you appeared to be opposites. Strangers from two different worlds. But inside you were more alike than either of you really understood. There was something waiting to be uncaged within you. Waiting for a reason to be unleashed. He was going to get you there. Because you deserved to see your potential, even if the bitch of a man across from you didn’t.

“Nah man...you clearly got the situation under control.” Rio taunted, the sarcasm dripping from his words. He clenched his jaw and swallowed, two sets of eyes watching the bird at his throat move. It was his own alpha display. His own performance of just who king dick was. And it wasn’t your ex.  

When it was clear that Paul wasn’t going to rise to the occasion, Rio drained the last of his drink and turned to face you. He lowered his lips to your ear and spoke so only you could hear.

“You ready to go, darlin’?”

“Yeah.” You said with a sharp nod of your head, chin held high in reproach towards the man opposite you.

Rio stood, grabbing his jacket and helping you slide out of your seat. His eyes never wavered from Paul’s as he did. You smoothed out your dress, clutching your purse and not bothering to acknowledge the couple at all. He dug into his pocket for his wallet and made a show of grabbing a few crisp hundred dollar bills. He pulled out two and threw them on the table.

“Dinner’s on me. Keep the change, yeah?” He offered with a smirk, letting his hand come to rest on your lower back. He led you away, keeping his touch secured to you as you stepped into the night.

You released a sigh immediately and then inhaled, eyes closing as if centering yourself. He watched you closely, wondering if he’d see tears in your eyes when you opened them. Instead, he saw amusement. A laugh erupted from your throat, your chest shaking as the volume grew with each passing second. He only watched, entertained by the sound. For the first time that evening, he let his eyes trail along your body. Your dress was black and velvet, hitting just below the knee. There was a small slit up the side, exposing the smooth flesh of your thigh. A tie was cinched around your waist, accentuating your figure, while short sleeves helped stave off the chill in the air. The entirety of you was elegant...captivating, and far too striking to be meeting up with your ex-husband for dinner.

Your laughter died down when you noticed his gaze. You stepped towards him, holding your purse in front of you so that your cleavage pulled his focus. He licked his lips and waited as you crowded his space, your perfume swirling into a fog around him. He studied your face, noting the tiny details he often overlooked. You were beautiful, a fact that never went unnoticed by him, but sometimes he forgot just how much. And he wondered if you’d always been this attractive or if it was just the blinding haze of attraction that made him think so. Either way, he didn’t really care. It didn’t change how much he ached to fuck you.

“How’d you know where I’d be?”

“I got my ways.” He offered, taking in the way your lashes fluttered at him. It was a familiar tell. One he’d come to associate with you flat on your back and gazing up at him, usually with his cock buried to the hilt inside of you.

“Thank you.” You whispered, sobering for a second so that he could read the honesty across your features. There was that vulnerability again. And his chest tightened just as it had the previous night.

“No problem.”

You took a step back and waited as he began to follow you to your car. You’d parked along the side of the building and he noted how full the lot still was. You halted once you noticed his SUV next to your car, stopping at the bumper and turning to face him.

“Your car?” You asked, nodding in the direction of the black G Wagon.

He wordlessly nodded, once again using the moment to appreciate the way your dress hugged your frame. He appraised your black heels and the deep red polish that adorned your toes, remembering that last time he’d seen you they’d been a light pink. He waited and watched as you walked to the passenger side of his car, fitting yourself in the space between the two vehicles.

“How tinted are your windows?” You asked, the innocence in your words making him suspicious. “Like no one can see in kind of tinted?”

You stared at him as you waited for his reply, biting your bottom lip in a way that could only be described as seductive.

“Yeah, why?”

You grinned, pleased with his answer. His face remained expressionless as you looked around the lot, the area void of other people. You slowly reached under your dress, careful not to expose yourself. Your hands disappeared under the skirt and then reappeared a second later, a scrap of dark green lace trailing down your legs. Your gaze stayed on him as you stepped out of the underwear and dangled them on your fingers, a proud grin making its way onto your lips. You flung the panties in his direction and he caught them against his chest.

“Open the door.” You softly demanded, gesturing to the rear passenger seat.

Rio let your words hang in the air, taking satisfaction in seeing you begin to squirm. There was doubt in your eyes, like perhaps he’d turn you down. You hadn’t caught on to the fact that he could do no such thing.

He took mercy on you, figuring you’d had enough unease for the night and found the key in his jacket pocket, hitting the button. The lights of the car flashed as the vehicle unlocked itself. You sent him a playful smile as you got in without another word, the door closing behind you with a resounding echo. He chuckled and shook his head, biting his lip as he pocketed your panties and walked to the other side of the vehicle. He got in, sliding in next to you and discarding his jacket along the way. He seated himself in the middle and you immediately straddled his lap. His hands found their way under your dress, skimming the soft planes of your thighs.

“So that’s what it takes, huh?” He whispered against your lips, leaning into your touch that ran along the back of his neck.

“What?”

“Me being a dick to your ex. That’s what it takes.” He supplied, hands gliding further under your dress until they began massaging your ass. You moaned at the sensation, eyes fluttering shut as you ground down onto his crotch.

“Takes a little more than that.” You insisted, your hips rocking against his in a sensual rhythm.

“Let me see.” He gruffly commanded, chin angling to the hem of your dress that was bunched around your thighs.

You stilled your hips and did as he requested, lifting the fabric and exposing your bare slit to his hungry eyes. He could see the evidence of your arousal, even in the dark. Your pussy glistened in the muted light of the night, swollen and needy for him like aloe to a scathing burn. He reached forward and ran his index finger along your opening, making you jump at the contact. He instantly became drenched in you, the clear stickiness coating his finger. Your hips searched for a firmer hand, wordlessly begging him to slip past your lips.

“You seem plenty wet for me already, ma.” He taunted, letting his finger press against your clit. You gasped and bit your lip, nails digging into the tops of his shoulders.

“Rio...please,” You pleaded, chasing his touch every time it disappeared from your body.

His dick twitched at the sound of his name falling from your parted lips. It was something you’d only recently started doing, using his name in bed. He was addicted to the sound of it. You always said it with desperation and longing, usually while clinging to him in trembling pleasure.

“What do you need?”

You gripped his wrist and directed his finger into your waiting walls in response. He was  overcome with heat and slick immediately. You both released moans that signaled just what it did to you to be so intimately joined.

“That what you need, baby?” He added another finger while his thumb continued to massage your clit. He could feel you clench around him, nipping at your chin as your moans turned to whimpers.

“More.”

“Let me see all of you.” He ordered, his free hand pulling at the neckline of your dress.

You dutifully obeyed, pulling your arms out of the garment and slipping it down to rest around your waist. The same shade of green that had adorned your lower half also encased your breasts, the lace affording him glimpses of your hardened nipples. He curled his fingers inside of you in reciprocation, reaching up to mouth at your neck. Your hands held him to you, running along his scalp and sending bolts of electricity straight to his dick. He shifted his hips in search of friction, feeling the warmth from between your thighs calling to him.

“Feel good?”

“Yes…” You breathed, unclasping your bra and hurriedly pulling the lace away. He followed your lead and trailed wet kisses across your flesh, his tongue reaching out to taste you. You pushed your chest into him in return.

“You can take more, right mama?” He urged, not bothering to wait for your answer. He added another finger, his movements speeding up as he reached that sweet spot deep within.

“Fuck, fuck…” You cursed, riding his fingers while he sucked at your nipple.

He worked your body like a fine-tuned car, hitting each switch with expert precision. He could read your face, gauge the tension in your limbs the further he brought you to the edge. His guilty pleasure was watching you cum, watching you uninhibited and practically blessing his very existence. He knew if he flicked his wrist more to the left and pressed down on your clit at the same time that you’d call out his name. He knew if he bit down on your breast he’d be rewarded with your pussy fluttering around him. He knew if he told you how good you looked, how good you felt, you’d cum...and hard.

“You look so good like this. Like you belong to me.” He praised. You gasped, throwing your head back, and he knew you were close. “Who gets you like this? Who makes you feel this good?”

“You do.”

“That’s right. No one else.” He affirmed, thrusting his fingers as rapidly as he could at that angle. The muscles in your thighs twitched as you came, tightening around his fingers in a way that made him long for it to be his dick instead. He let you ride out the ecstasy, your body rocking into the stiffness pressed along his zipper. Your head was thrown back, your mouth agape as a litany of cries and moans filtered through the air. He could make out the rasp of his name amongst the sounds. He could feel the surge of moisture as it slid down his hand. You were enraptured; a victim to his touch.

He waited until your body had stilled, the aftershocks having long passed, before he slipped from your clutches. He caught your hooded gaze and slowly took his slickened fingers into his mouth, your essence exploding onto his tongue. He savored you, taking in the way your chest expanded with each breath. Your fingers curled into his shirt and dragged along his chest, your hips dropping down to grind into him. He barely had enough time to remove his fingers before you were pulling his lips to yours. Your tongue coaxed his into your mouth and he could taste the remnants of the wine you’d drank. The alcohol mixed with you, creating an erotic elixir, one that had him intoxicated. He hissed against your lips, bucking his hips when you unzipped his pants and licked your palm in a show of lustful desire.

“I need you. Inside.” You panted between kisses, situating your pussy over him as you stroked his throbbing flesh.

Rio slid his hand up between your breasts and grasped your neck, feeling your pulse jump. He tilted your chin towards him and ensured your eyes were nowhere else but on him.

“Put me in. Go slow.” He squeezed his fingers around your throat as you moved, angling the head of his cock along your folds. You released a shaky breath as you eased him into you, gaze not wavering. He rested against the seat as he took in the view, licking his lips. He tsked and maneuvered your chin back in position when your eyes began to close, the fullness of him stretching you tight.

“Keep going, mama. All of it.”

You held his forearm, the one still attached to your neck, as you bottomed out, your ass finally meeting his thighs. Your pussy sucked him, walls gripping him with an unforgiving strength. You both remained still, relishing the myriad of sensations that assaulted your restless bodies.

“Touch yourself.”

You worked your hands over his arm, cupping your breasts at his request. Your movements mirrored his, matching the force and pressure of how he usually touched you. He was transfixed by you. Utterly lost in the way your body begged for him and still wanted more. He respected your greediness. Could understand the need for more once a craving had been satisfied. It was the business he was in. He was an expert on the matter. And he’d deliver for you.

His left hand dug into the flesh of your ass in a show of impatience. You caught on and started to move, leaning down to nibble at his throat. Your pace was languid, almost lazy as you swiveled your hips. Each down thrust had you rubbing your clit along his pelvic bone, triggering your pussy to spasm.

“Rio...”

There was a warning in your tone. He could hear it clearly as you bounced on his cock, the plea almost drowned out by the slapping of bodies.

“Shit, already?” He asked, somewhat surprised at the rate at which your body was responding to him. He let both of his hands fall to your ass, directing you forward so that he could thrust. You whimpered into his ear as his hips pushed up and into you, hitting deep. You clamped down around him, making him squeeze his eyes shut.

“Right there. Don’t stop.” You gasped, face buried into his neck as he slapped your ass. The hit made you convulse. So he did it again.

The closing in of your walls made him double his efforts. He secured his arm around your waist and held you steady. He kept your pussy at his desired angle as he fucked you, hearing that hitch in your breath that let him know you were on the cusp of orgasm.

“M’gonna cum.” You slurred, primal lust making the words run together. His dick swelled inside of you, his balls tightening with every desperate breath you expelled. He could feel that familiar tingle at the base of his spine start to expand, signaling to him what was coming next. He worked his hand between your bodies, gathering moisture and ravaging your clit. You jerked in surprise, yelping when his touch didn’t retreat or ease up.

“Too much.”

“Nah, you take it, ma. You take it and you cum for me.” Rio provoked, forcing you to abide by his commands.

Seconds later you were doing as he said once again, cumming on his cock with a force that made him grit his teeth. Your body shuddered as barely intelligible words floated from your lips. You nuzzled further into him while he continued to chase his own release. He dug his fingers into your hips and thrust, the rapid speed making the car sway. He could already tell the windows were fogged up, the stench of sex permeating the air. You were boneless as you sat astride him, your soft moans of residual pleasure going straight to his dick, luring him off the edge.

“Fuck,” He growled, feeling the eletric shocks of climax start to claim him. He closed his eyes and buried his face into the crook of your neck, teeth biting down into the otherwise unblemished skin. He held you firm as he emptied his cum and filled you, rivulets already beginning to spill from your connected bodies. His chest moved with the rapid beats of his heart as the entire moment culminated into a drug-level euphoria.

Minutes ticked by as you both struggled to catch your breath and calm your racing hearts. Rio felt you ghost a kiss along his jaw; a low, satisfied laugh making him smirk.

“You think anyone heard us?” You asked, beginning to shift in his arms.

Beyond the fogged windows, the lot was still without people. But who knew who’d walked by in the meantime. The SUV wasn’t necessarily equipped to withhold sound, though it could cause a bullet to ricochet.

“Probably.” He let you sit up, eyes falling to your still naked chest. You both seemed to have an affinity for fucking in public spaces.

You eased forward to kiss him, the action much more intimate than it’d been moments ago. Your fingers trailed along his jaw and combed through his facial hair, a gesture he secretly loved. His own hands skimmed your back, eliciting shivers that radiated down your body.

“I didn’t ask you to do this.” You whispered once you’d pulled away, eyes imploring him to understand what you meant.

He did. He knew what this kind of gesture meant. He’d been truthful in confessing his want for you. It was a selfish need. Something that grew because you’d continuously denied him. And then it’d shattered before it’d even had a chance to become anything. And during that time he’d admitted to himself that he was willing to compromise. To follow your rules. And as a boss who ran his own shit by his own decree, it was difficult to come to terms with. But he’d done it. Why? Because something told him it’d be worth it. Whether for the great sex or the companionship.

Time would tell.

He ran his finger along your cheek, observing the way you fell into the touch. “You didn’t have to.” He assured you, meaning every word.

“Thank you.”

“You already thanked me, darlin’.”

“Well, thank you again.” You smiled, pressing your chest to his.

“Call it even.” He joked, gesturing to the state of your bodies still twisted around each other.

“Let’s get some pizza.” You suggested suddenly, pulling the sleeves of your dress back up, sans bra.

He laughed at both your words and the fact that you were getting dressed with his dick still sheathed inside you. “You hungry?”

“I didn’t get to finish my dinner.” You reminded him, retying the tassel around your waist. His hands sluggishly skimmed your thighs, stopping to squeeze whenever you suddenly straightened. “Oh, what about that food truck you took me to last week? The one with the fried mac and cheese?”

Rio took in your enthusiasm, finding it endearing. He didn’t have to use words to figure out where your head was at in all this. It was written on your face. In your voice. Beaming from your eyes and seeping from your pores. And like so many other things between you, it would go unsaid. For now. Because that’s just how it was. And maybe it was fucked up. But it didn’t invalidate any of the chemistry between you. Words just...weren’t needed. And that was sort of how it had always been.

“I got you.” He assured, patting your ass as he did. You beamed at him, not knowing that his words ran much deeper than a meal.

Rio Tags:

@tomhardydallasstarsgirl​

@thebookisbtr​

@beardburnsupersoldiers​

@nina-nkl​

@gemini0410​

[p---ink]

White.

Author’s Note: First Chris Oneshot. It was supposed to be a blurb/drabble, but I think its a bit too long for that now. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this filth. Also you ever get that feeling, where you feel like you've came up with an idea in your head originally, but also feel like you may have seen it somewhere else? Yea that's how I feel about this piece. So if you've read something similar to this, please link it and let me know so I can edit or delete this post altogether.

Summary: Chris greets you after a long day at work, with some TLC.

Word Count: 2.9k.

Warning: Fluff and Smut. Oral (female receiving), fingering, Semi-mean Daddy Chris, over-stimulation, multiple orgasms, and I think...maybe that’s it? Please let me know if I forgot something.

Disclaimer: Gif is not mine. 

“The kids are asleep?” You whispered, when he held his finger to his lips upon your arrival. 

“Yea, I just laid Ezra down. That is one rowdy little person.” He said chuckling, leaning down to plant a kiss on your mouth. He held you by your waist to pepper more along your face. 

“Chris baby, you are a God-send.” You sighed, leaning in to his touch. “You will not believe the shitty day I had.”

“Hold that thought and take a seat, doll” he ordered, urging you towards the living room by your shoulders. “I’ll be right back.” He promised. 

You sighed as you threw your work bag down on the love chair beside you, kicking your shoes off in the process.  When you crossed the room to drop down on the sofa, the weight of today’s events crushed you instantaneously, as you waited for your husband to return. 

You’ve been married for six years, and he’s been good to you for all of them. Great even. He always listened, and almost never complained. How could he when he was usually away, due to his job? 

He was forever busy with filming, press tours and whatnot. It made him feel guilty to leave you and your sons so often. So any time he was at home for a break, he took full advantage. He spent time with his boys, and then the rest with you, spoiling you all with his love. 

Preoccupied with your stress, you almost failed to notice Chris taking a seat in front of you. He took hold of one of your legs, and that’s when you noticed your spa-kit placed next to him. 

“Baby, you don’t have to do this.” You cried, scrunching your face in relief when he rubbed your calf in just the right spot.

Chris flashed those pretty baby blues at you, along with that signature smug smirk. “You know I do. And you know I want to.” He said, before dousing his hands with oil. 

As he firmly massaged the coconut into your skin, you couldn’t help but marvel at him. Taking a pillow into your arms to hug, and hide your giddy smile, you reply with, “What I did I do to deserve you?”

“Well I would tell you, but I don’t have enough time, because you’ve got to tell me about what’s got my girl so upset.” He informed you with a stern look that read who do I have to kill? “Before you do that,” he started, placing your newly moisturized leg down before grabbing the other, “Choose a color.” 

You tucked your bottom lip between your teeth, peering over to take a look into the open basket. It had an assorted amount of different nail polishes and products for nail care. Your favorite color currently decorated the bottom of the basket, and it made you recall the time your oldest son Jeremy spilled its contents over while playing a game of “paint” about a week ago. That boy. You thought, shaking your head playfully. Well I guess I won’t be choosing that one. 

After a moment of close examination, and scrutiny, you chose “White”, which made Chris immediately stop his measures against your legs, to peer up at you through hooded lids. 

“So its one of those days, huh.” He smirked. “I was hoping you’d pick that one.”

“What do you mean by that?” You questioned. You hadn’t known he preferred certain colors on you. 

“I’ll tell you later, but first tell me about your day baby.”

He didn’t need to tell you twice. You were dying to get it all off your chest.  You spilled out your hearts content, as your husband massaged your legs, then your feet, and in between your toes. As he delicately removed the old paint from your last session, and proceeded to paint your feet, you were almost finished relaying the message. 

“…and its just like they treat me like I’m insane! But you know what? The way i’m always overlooked, and ignored, makes me feel like I am going insane. Every time I suggest an idea, its stupid. But let some asshat say the exact same thing, and they praise him like a god.” You complain, rolling your eyes, at your memories from your work day. 

Chris offered you the occasional nod or two, humming softly at your cries of frustration when needed. And as much as he wanted to offer his two cents on the matter, he knew that what you wanted most was to be heard. You just wanted to be listened to. And while you wouldn’t of minded him beating their asses, he knew you needed his tenderness. His love. His care. And so that’s what he gave you. 

“And you know why they do it right? It’s because I’m a woman! A black one at that. Lord Jesus, it pisses me off so much.” You sigh, finally bringing your eyes down to him, after they had been trained on the air and nothingness around you; you had a habit of re-living stories as you told them. “But honey, this has really helped out a lot.” You say, cupping his chin lovingly. 

“You know I’ll do anything for you doll. And fuck those sons of bitches. They’re idiots if they can’t see how amazing you are. If you quit, like I suggested a while ago, that’ll really show ‘em.” Chris exclaimed, applying a second coat of white.

“Now you know I love what I do. I just wish I was more appreciated is all!” 

He gave you a sympathetic look before saying, “well you know me and the boys appreciate you.”, running his fingers along the ridges of your toes to remove the misapplied dye on your skin. 

“I know you do baby. I mean look at what you’re doing for me now.” You said, gesturing towards the care he took with your feet. 

Chris just smiled in response. He only felt slightly defeated when you rejected his idea to stay at home. You told him many stories about the jerks you worked with. You were among one of the only women at your company, and you paid for that fact daily. You told him, how they would talk to you, and treat you, even though you had the same amount, if not more experience as they did. He didn’t want you to have to put up with that. He wanted you to kick your feet up and enjoy the life he would provide for you and the kids you both created. But, like the supportive husband he was, he honored your wishes to pursue your passions. He knew that was what made you happier at the moment. The time would come, where he could spoil you completely, though. 

“Speaking of this,” You started, motioning towards your feet once more. “What’d you mean when you said “So it’s one of those days, huh”” You asked, putting on your best impression of him. 

Chris put on a smile that could light up a room, as a deep throaty chuckle erupted from his chest, and vibrated through your body via your feet. “Is that what you think I sound like? No matter, I’ll tell you what I meant. I can predict exactly what it is you need, and how you feel, based on the nail polish color you choose.” He said confidently, picking up a clear polish to apply the final coat.

“Is that right?” You ask, failing to take him seriously, even when he flashed that cocky grin and brow twitch that he often used to back his claims. “You’re so full of shit.”

“Seriously. I can. Listen.” He informed you, opening the clear polish, and brushing the access paint along the insides of the bottle. “I can prove it.”

“Fine! Go ahead.” You state, becoming intrigued.

Delicately holding your left foot against his knee, he starts explaining his theory while applying polish. “You see, when you choose a pale blue or orange, I know you just wanna forget about things with a movie or a cuddle session. Forest green or black, when you feel like throwing a couple of shots back with your girls at a bar. Mauve and a nude of any kind are your favorites, and you request them when you need to feel in control, classy, or sophisticated. And you always choose a soft pink, or yellow, when you need a happy reminder, or a burst of energy and inspiration. Lavender, is a color I wish you’d choose more, since it represents your happiness. Gray, is a color I wish you’d choose less, since it means you’re sad. And then there’s plum purple and candy apple red, two colors I can’t get enough of. You want those, when you’re feeling sexy. See, baby I can read you like an open book.” He declared, moving on to your second foot. Feeling quite sure of himself. 

You just stared at him in awe. Then you realized he didn’t mention, the one he just spent  ten minutes applying. “You forgot about white.”

“Oh I didn’t forget angel.” He corrected, smirking as he finally finished painting both feet. “I’m just waiting on your toes to dry.” After he says this, he begins to sensually blow cool air on your toes. 

“Chris! Tell me what it means!” You pout playfully, growing fed up with his secrecy. Also tickled from the air he blew. 

“Fine. But be quiet, you don’t wanna wake those little demons.” He warned, fixing you with a stern look that made you erupt into quiet giggles. He always made you laugh with his juxtaposed funny-seriousness. He was seriously funny. “White is my absolute favorite. You wanna know why? Its simple, and doesn’t drown out your pretty personality. It goes with every outfit, purse, and hairstyle. You wear this color, when you’re frustrated. Exasperated. Annoyed. You choose white, when you need me to wrap those pretty little legs around my neck, so I can make you cum till kingdom come. Or until you see, ‘white’. Whichever comes first”. He finished, staring at you seriously all of the sudden. A thick silence had befallen the two of you, and you almost didn’t know how to escape it. 

After a moment, you break out into a smile, despite Chris’ unmoving features. “Are you sure that’s what I want? Or is it something you want?”

“It’s what you need.” He affirmed, finally matching your expression, only his smile held a lot more lust than yours. “Tell me I’m wrong.”

“I’ll tell you something alright, Chris. I think you paint my nails entirely too much.”

He lets out a breathy chuckle, moving to pack up the spa kit, before saying “So in other words I’m right.” He rises to his feet, peering down through his long lashes with a knowing grin, before turning to leave the room. But not without saying, “Don’t worry baby, I’ll give you what you need.” Leaving you an anxious mess.

You start squirming in your seat, waiting with anticipation for him to return. You try to sit in your sexiest pose, but it makes you feel awkward. Then you start to wonder if you should remove your underwear. But you know he likes doing that. You even wonder if you smell okay, after such a long day at work. A million thoughts race through your mind, and you barely register his presence when reenters the room. You slightly jump, when you feel his warm hands brush against the nape of your neck.

“Shit baby.” Chris laughs, as he rounds the couch. “I knew it was bad, but I didn’t realize how bad. Let daddy, handle this for you.” He says kneeling back in front of you, knees tucked firmly under his person. He smoothes his hands over the expanse of your soft supple skin, leaving a burning trail of desire in his wake. When he hooks his fingers underneath the waistband of your panties, your breath hitches as the cool air hits your moistened sex. 

You lift your thighs and legs, so he can carefully remove the lace without ruining his handwork on your feet. When Chris surveys your dampened panties and inhales their scent, his grin grows wider. “You’re already this wet for me?” 

He gives you no time to answer as he’s pulling you closer to his face, by your thighs. The sudden movement caused a whimper to escape your throat, soft sound making his cock harden. He’s working his kisses up against your thighs with a quickness, ready to produce more sounds like the last. 

Your head’s position on the couch has you feeling a bit awkward, and you go to say  “This is uncom—” but cut yourself off with a moan, as he dives his thick tongue between your petals, writing love notes against the skin.

“What’s that, doll?” Chris asks, hot breath dangerously close to your bud.

You just mewl in response, wetting his beard with your juices, as he eats you like you’re his last meal. “Right there baby.” You groan, grinding yourself against his mouth when his tongue darts against your nub. 

“Right here?” He questions softly, repeating the same gestures, sending a jolt through your body that makes you buck against his face. 

Your words leave your throat, as he sucks harshly against the problem areas, shocks of pleasure emitting through your person. And just when you thought it couldn’t get any better, he adds his fingers. First two, but then three as he starts fucking your pussy. 

“D-daddy!” You cry, voice coming out shaky as you writhe against his lips and fingers. His actions have you climbing up the couch. 

Then he removes his lips, warning you to keep quiet. “My babies are upstairs, I’m gonna need you to keep your pretty mouth shut.” He commands, placing your soaked panties between your lips. 

As he quickens the pace of his fingers, and makes his tongue dart from left to right relentlessly against your clit, you approach your first orgasm of the night, and he knows it too, when your hole clenches around his fingers. 

He smiles, and tells you how proud of you he is, but he isn’t done with you yet. 

♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎

Your muffled moans ring through your ears, as you clamp your teeth down around your underwear. Your jaw was becoming slack from keeping it open so long, and you were feeling sore.

Chris was still continuing his assault against your sex. He had long moved from his position on the floor, and now sat beside you on the couch. 

He had your legs sprawled open, keeping them from closing with one hand gripped on your thigh, and the other rubbed fast and hard circles against your clit, while he whispered sweet nothings into your ear.

“What number was that one, baby? Five, six? I lost count after the third time, when you squirted on daddy’s chest.” He growled, biting his lip, as he quickened his pace against your nub. “Do you think you can do that again?”

You moaned in protest, shaking your head from left to right, as you approached another orgasm. You couldn’t take anymore pleasure, your sensitive bud was going through too much.

“What’s that baby? I can’t hear you.” He teased, face as serious as it could be. He was testing you. You knew not to remove the underwear, or you’d be there all night. When you made no moves to pull them out, he did it for you, a string of spit connecting your lips to the fabric.

You immediately pleaded with him to ease up. “Daddy I don’t think I-I can take an-nymore.” You cried, now a blubbering mess.

“You don’t think you can take anymore?” Chris repeated, mocking you. “Well that’s too bad. Daddy thinks his princess looks too pretty when she’s cumming. So suck it up, because I’m not stopping until we have to replace this couch.”

You  felt that familiar coil in your stomach again, threatening to snap, as you threw your head back. You were a sweating mess now. You had hair glued to your face, and neck, and your shirt was drenched, as it clung to your stomach. But still, it wasn’t quite as drenched as your pussy, thighs, and couch cushions were. 

Chris was as hard as a rock, but you knew if you touched him, he’d get angry. He wanted to play with you, until you were begging him to stop.

“What happened today at work again baby? What was it Chad said to you? I bet if I have you fucked out like this every night, I’d be the only man on your mind.” He whispered against your ear.

Your stomach began spasming, as you clenched painfully around nothing. This would be your last one too, before your body gave up. 

Tears streamed down your cheek, as you contorted your face into the sexiest expression Chris had ever seen. And then, just before your screams of pleasure could rip through your chest, he covered his mouth over yours, as you squirted all over his hands, your thighs, and stomach. When you finally opened your eyes, you could only see white, before your vision came back into focus.

Massaging the wet, between your folds, Chris bought his fingers up to your lips and said “open.” And you did, sucking all your juices from his digits without breaking eye contact. “Attagirl.” He praised, wiping your tears away. Feel better now?” He asked, small smirk playing on his lips.

You nod tiredly, throat dry from your previous activities.

He brushes your sweaty hair behind your ears before saying, “Good. Now, let’s paint those pretty pink walls white, too.” 

[writtenonreceipts]

If you're taking prompts, maybe for feysand - Person A catches a bus home everyday, but today, they're so exhausted that they fall asleep, suddely they feel a light tap on their shoulder and open their eyes to see person B smiling at them. "Sorry to wake you, but this is your stop, i hope you slept well"

<33

Oh my darling anon, I am always eager for prompts! Thank-you for sending this in! I altered just a few minor things, ie trains and not not busses and the diologue is just worded diff... and then over indulged in my own whims and fancies, just a touch.

2.7K words of fluff and awkwardness...all i know is awkwardness so ya know...

 #

Strangers and Favors

Exhausted.  Tired.  Sleepy.  There were far too many ways to describe what Feyre was feeling.  Not even the coffee in her hands was doing anything to give her the boost she needed.  

Amid the chill of morning and the slowly growing light of dawn, Feyre found herself hurrying from her car in the park-and-ride lot.  She practically flung herself up the small steps that led to the train platform and into the first train car she was near. 

She’d been running late that morning and nearly missed her alarm.  Alis had been a dear and poured her coffee in a thermos, but Feyre hated the feeling of being rushed.  Especially after a poor night's sleep.  And when it was five thirty in the morning.

Feyre slipped into a seat before she could finally tell herself to breathe.  She’d made it onto her train with only a few minutes to spare.  Thankfully there were other straggling passengers filtered into the train car and made their way to their various seats.

Feyre took a long sip of her coffee and tried to convince herself that she wasn’t really tired.  Even though it was far too early to be awake and she had an hour and a half train ride to sit through.  

Dawn had barely begun to rise over the horizon with not even the promise of pink and blue streaks through the sky.  She sighed and drew out her sketch pad.  

She was barely into starting the picture--of what she had no idea--when the train started moving and a form fell into the seat across from her.

Feyre blinked and glanced up.

There were plenty of other open seats lining the train.  Granted the place she’d found herself was the only one with a small table set up, but still.  

Sitting across from her was a man far too attractive for his own good.  He wore a black suit with a deep navy-blue button up beneath.  No tie, only the top few buttons of his shirt undone giving a peak at a series of tattoos on his chest.  His black hair was styled in a neat wave revealing a chiseled jaw and glorious eyes.

Feyre tore her gaze away before she could be accused of staring.  But honestly, who could blame her?

Over the course of the train ride, Feyre finished her coffee and scribbled out at least four pages worth of drawings.  Unfortunately, inspiration didn’t strike.  Not that it was surprising.  She’d not drawn anything new in months.  Oh, she’d tried.  She could sit for hours on this train, on her balcony, or out in the middle of the forest with a pencil in one hand and paper in the other--and nothing.  Nothing would come.

Alis always told her that she couldn’t force herself to draw.  She couldn’t force herself to be inspired if she didn’t make the conscious choice.  But Alis didn’t understand that sometimes, it was too damned hard.

The train ride passed without excitement.  Not even the man across from her did anything interesting.  Figured.  He was so attractive his life had to be mundane.  At least, that was what Feyre told herself while she was not covertly looking at him

She was glad to get off the train when it reached the city.  After making sure she had her things, she slipped out and onto the platform without trouble.

#

Chaos was not something she enjoyed.  

Especially not lately.  As long as everything was in its place of simplicity, life could continue on as normal.

Honestly, if Feyre could have chosen a simple life involving nothing more than eating donuts she would have chosen it.  Because living in a state of missed calls and impatient clients and looming deadlines was far from her state of happiness.

With a bag of donuts from Rita’s bakery in one hand, Feyre collapsed in her seat at the end of the day.  She’d managed to leave work five minutes early giving her enough time to swing into Rita’s and grab a few treats.  And she would not apologize for it.

“Long day?” 

Feyre glanced up to see the man from that morning taking a seat across from her.  He had an amused sort of expression on his face which made it even harder to look away.  Feyre snatched a frosted chocolate donut from her bag and glared at him.

“No.” She took a giant bite leaving sugar to lace around her mouth and narrowed her eyes at him.

He grinned and shook his head.

Feyre was able to finish her donut in peace and managed not to stare at the man the rest of the train ride home.

#

Life continued.  And much to Feyre’s dismay, nothing changed.

Her sketch book remained empty.  Her coffee remained dull.  Work did not improve.

Something needed to change.  But honestly, she couldn’t figure out what it was.  She’d left her ex months ago.  She’d gotten a new wardrobe, a new phone, moved in with her friend.  She’d started getting out more too.  Somewhat.  When Nesta called, which wasn’t often but at least her sister was trying.

It was five-thirty in the morning and she was seated on the train, again.  And the man who seemed to only own clothing that was black was seated across from her, again.  Since that first day of seeing him, he hadn’t tried talking to her again, which Feyre was semi grateful for.  She was certain she would just make herself look like a bigger idiot than before.

Had she really stuffed her face with that giant donut?

Not that she cared.  She could do whatever she wanted.

Except draw.

Feyre stared out the window of the train.  It was slowly starting to get lighter sooner and Feyre now had more scenery to watch instead of the reality of the empty sketchpad.

Inevitably, however, Feyre found her attention drawn to the man across from her.

There was something about him.  Feyre couldn’t place it, exactly, perhaps an energy of some kind.  Or it was his confidence.  Arrogance.  Something.  She found him mesmerizing.  How stupid was that?  A man she had said one word to and ignored for an entire month and she could help but watch him.

He did a cross word every morning.  Texting someone throughout--or else cheating and looking up the answers.  Other times she caught him reading a book about astrology or NASA’s recent magazine release.  She wanted to ask him about the astrology, it was such a fascinating topic, one that she liked learning about.  But she never knew how to strike up a conversation, so she remained silent.

She’d always been good at staying silent.  At least that was what she’d been told.

The thought came so suddenly that Feyre had to physically shake herself to make it disappear.  She sat up in her seat, hands clenching in her lap.

She snapped her attention away from the train window and forcibly removed her sketchpad from her bag.  In a fury, Feyre moved her pencil across the page.  It wasn’t the bed utensil to use, but it was better than bringing her entire art supply on the commute to work.  The pencil would suffice.

It wasn’t as though she liked being quiet.  It wasn’t as though she didn’t have anything to say.  Sometimes it was just easier.  Sometimes it was just better.  Sometimes the silence was how she communicated.  Sometimes people just didn’t understand that.

The scene came alive beneath her fingers.

Mountains and stars.  Storms and shadows.  All convalescing on a shape.  A person.  A…

Feyre frowned at the scene.  Someone was kneeling on a throne of night and she couldn’t see their face.

“Do you always glare at your art like that?”  The midnight voice broke Feyre out of her revere.  

Glance up, Feyre locked gazes with the violet eyes of the man across from her.  The crossword in his lap was complete.  Feyre realized for the first time that he was younger than she’d originally thought.  Maybe about five years older than she was.  And even though he oozed arrogance, there was almost a genuine sort of smile dancing across his lips.

“Only when it’s being difficult,” Feyre answered.  She offered a brief shrug and gestured to the crossword on his lap. “Do you always cheat at the crossword?”

He made an affronted sort of gasp. “I don’t cheat.”

“You’re always on your phone when you scribble answers in,” Feyre pointed out.  She smirked, unable to help it.

“I’m texting with a friend,” he said, “she’s always trying to finish the damned thing before me in the mornings.  All I do is offer a bit of...encouragement.”

“Right,” Feyre said doubtfully.  She shook her head, still smiling.

The man watched her, almost confused, before he leaned forward.  “And the art?  It’s the first time in over a month I’ve seen you actually draw something.”

“I was searching for the right inspiration,” she said.  And then as she found herself nearly drowning in the heat of his gaze--Feyre had what she’d been hunting for. “Sometimes it just takes a while to find.”

The train pulled to a stop where they usually got off.  Feyre collected her things and half expected the man to be right at her side when his phone went off.

He muttered something under his breath before answering it.

Feyre almost had half a mind to wait for him.  To linger on the platform and dredge up some excuse so that she could talk to him.  If only for a moment longer.  She still hadn’t asked him about the astrology book.

Instead she was swept up in the crowd of commuters.

#

For the next two weeks, Feyre was out of her mind with anxiety.

There really was no other way to describe it.  Because every morning and every evening when she would board the train there would be no sign of her mysterious companion.  Not even the sight of him running to try and catch a ride before the train completely left the station.  Not even a hint of him getting on a different compartment one day by accident.  Nothing.

So, naturally, her mind told her that it had something she’d done.  Something she’d said.  Hell.  She hadn’t even done anything that stupid.  Aside from stuffing a whole ass donut in her mouth.

She was an idiot.

Eventually she was able to push thoughts of her mysterious companion aside.  Not only was she drawing again, but her workload had increased.  And now she was getting up earlier and staying later and her schedule was entirely too chaotic.  

She really missed the simpler days of dashing into Rita’s or relaxing on the train bench not staring at the man across from her.

After two weeks of commuting alone and another two weeks of being run ragged at work, Feyre finally found herself being able to return to a normal timeline.  Somewhat.  At least she was going to be able catch her usual train home and get home before ten o’clock.

Feyre fell into her seat and leaned up against the window of the train.  She didn’t mean to fall asleep.  Not really.  But as soon as she was seated and relaxed her eyes drifted shut and she was gone.

The next thing Feyre knew there was a gentle hand on her shoulder.

“Sorry to wake you, but this is your stop,” said an all too familiar voice.

Feyre’s eyes snapped open and she nearly flung out a fist to the shape in front of her.

“I take it you slept well?” Her mysterious companion snatched out a hand and caught hers before it made contact.  He gave her a cheeky grin. “You didn’t even twitch between all the other stops.”

Feyre blinked up at him.  Sleep still addled her brain and he was making no sense whatsoever.

“What?” she finally managed to spit out.

“Your stop?” he said, jutting a thumb to the train doors. 

Feyre cursed, loudly, and jumped up. “I barely even closed my eyes,” she grumbled.

“Here, let me,” her companion grabbed her bag for her and helped her off the train before it took them all the way south to Hybern.

“Thanks,” Feyre said as they stepped out onto the platform.  She accepted her bag from him and gave him a smile. “It’s been a long couple of weeks I guess.”

In the still fading evening light, Feyre was able to see his easy smile and the way his eyes crinkled softly.  His black hair was tousled easily as if he’d been running his hands through it recently.

“It’s not a problem,” he said, “in fact I was surprised to even see you.  It’d been a few weeks.”

Feyre blinked.  He’d noticed she wasn’t on at her usual time?

“You were gone for a while too,” she said without thinking.  You idiot.

Her words seemed to catch him by surprise, but not for long.  A gleam flashed in his eyes.

“You noticed, did you?”

“You noticed me,” she shot back quickly.

They stood in silence as the train moved on with a loud whistle and the last few men and women passed them by hurrying to catch their connecting busses or get to their cars.

His smile stretched into a full grin. “I’m Rhysand.”

“Feyre,” she said, returning the smile.   She then noticed the small paper bag he held in one hand.  Immediately, Feyre recognized the logo on the outside.  “Rita’s?  That’s my favorite place to stop at after work.”

“Yeah, uh,” Rhysand said as he ran a hand through his hair, “I noticed and decided to give it a try.”

“And?” Feyre pressed.

“I have you to blame for my new addiction,” he said.

Feyre laughed, shaking her head.  “I take full responsibility, though I will not apologize.”

Rhysand paused only for a moment before he glanced at her and an almost sheepish smile crossed his features. “Have you been to Dreamer’s? It’s a late-night coffee shop on Main.”

“I haven’t, but I’ve been meaning to,” Feyre admitted.

“My treat,” he said almost immediately.  “I mean, if you want.  You can tell me about what helped you find the inspiration to start drawing again.”

Feyre blinked at him remembering that train ride over a month ago now where she’d finally been able to draw more than a few measly lines.  And she realized now as she watched a halo of light glimmer from the setting sun around his head that all this time she’d been trying to draw him in the outline of mountains and stars.

“Deal,” Feyre said. “But you should know, I don’t give up my secrets lightly.”

Rhysand quirked a brow. “Noted.”

They spent hours sharing secrets.  The small kinds, the simple kinds.

Feyre learned that Rhysand’s brother had broken his leg playing football and needed surgery which was why he’d disappeared for a few weeks.  She learned that it was his mother who taught him about astrology before she died not that long ago.  And now he spent most of his time trying to avoid his father.  

She’d told him about her love of painting, of art, of creating.  Anything that made her feel alive.  She’d told him about walking out on her old life and how here she was six months later and still desperate for change.

They were both trying, it turned out, to become something different.

It wouldn’t be until later that night--after sunset when the inky black sky gave way to the millions of stars overhead--that Feyre found herself home.  Rhysand, of course, made sure she’d arrived safe and she’d rewarded him with a brush of her lips to his cheek and a small smile over her shoulder.

It wouldn’t be until later that night--amid the cool mid-spring air that promised a new dawn--that Feyre would pull out her sketch pad.  She would draw sharp lines and angular features and a man kneeling amid the night.  She would draw power and beauty in something, someone, she didn’t know perfectly.  But one day.  One day, maybe she would.

#

thanks for reading my dears!  i am always eager and open from prompts so thanks for sendin gthem!  I really do enjoy them!

tags:

let me know if I put you on the wrong tag list/want to be removed.  it’s generally going to be easier for me to just have basic acotar/tog lists and not go into too much worry about that, so just and fyi...anywho

tottenhamboys20  @more-espresso-less-depresso-xx  @bamchickawowow @ladywitchling @ireallyshouldsleeprn @courtofjurdan @sassys-world @sleeping-and-books @superspiritfestival @chieflemming @julemmaes @lysandra-ghost-leopard @harrymoncheri @firestarsandseneschals @rapunzel1523 @emikadreams

[painted-crow]

Some Discworld Sortings

@missbrunettebarbie​: Monstrous Regiment, The Truth, the first 3 City Watch books, Going Postal, Mort and Unseen Academicals. And I would love to read those sortings :)).

I already have most of Unseen Academicals’ Sorting written out--I just need to tweak it for publishing :) 

The short version of UA

The cast of UA is a pure-House matched set, aside from some models, and the characters each swap models around and interact with each others’ primaries in interesting ways. Glenda is a Hufflepuff/Hufflepuff, Juliette is a Gryffindor, Trev is a Slytherin, and Nutt, of course, is the loudest double Ravenclaw ever (I love him).

Nutt helps Glenda realize her community’s worldview is toxic and stop seeing herself through their lens. Glenda then stops pushing the same worldview on Juliette and starts encouraging her to follow her Gryffindor instead. Nutt doesn’t remotely fit into the class framework Glenda’s used to, and he challenges her assumptions just by existing. (Glenda also picks up a Gryffindor secondary model from Juliette that’s very healthy for her, but that’s getting into a bunch more detail that I’ll save for the full post later.)

Nutt’s system is very Hufflepuffy, but he sees himself as more of a tool than a person, and Glenda consistently argues with him about this until he starts to believe her. Then she’s his champion in the community, where Nutt desperately wants to belong but keeps getting rejected for what he is. It’s such a good ship, they’re so healthy for each other--and if you’re looking for a wholesome, fuzzy romantic subplot with an autistic-coded character, it’s right here.

Trev slowly un-Petrifies as he starts to let himself care about his friends, and they in turn inspire him to contribute and make something of himself. It’s not immediately obvious that Trev is Burned, because he’s so carefree--but he’s carefree because he isn’t letting himself care. He’s an orphan, and he’s felt helpless for a long time.

We know he’s unburned when he finally prioritizes his loyalty to his living friends over the promise he made years ago to his mother (who seems to represent the last loyalty relationship Trev had, and he's still holding on to her; letting her go means Trev has accepted that he has new relationships and those are real). Juliette’s presence in particular reignites his ambition--he wants to do better for her, be better for her, and that gives him direction in a way that his previous goals of leisure and self-preservation didn’t.

(That’s what’s going on with their primaries. Eventually I’ll get off my butt and fix up the full post.)

A quick sampler of main characters from the other books...

Monstrous Regiment

Polly is a Slytherin primary. The whole reason she joins the army is to rescue Paul (and, secondarily, to make sure she has a stable future when her father dies--otherwise some unreliable relative of hers inherits the inn, she’s not allowed to own it because of Nugganite customs). Ravenclaw secondary, I think, for how much her narration criticizes the others for not having a plan. 

Going Postal

Moist is of course a double Slytherin--he's blatantly obvious. He has a Claw secondary model but he tells us through the narration that he doesn't value it quite as much as his Slytherin. He's also very good at performing Puff secondary and seeming like a reliable people person, but the second he's asked to actually be reliable and hardworking he starts to go nuts and look for dangerous, exciting stuff to do.

The only thing that really ties him to Ankh-Morpork, aside from its general entertainment value every time Vetinari tries to give him a job where someone inevitably wants to kill him, is Adorabelle (who is also a threat to his life, just a little, enough to be interesting). She’s a double Slytherin too, but she spends most of her time in neutral state--yet she’s even managed to turn her neutral state into a game to play with Moist. Of course he’s enamored with her, lol.

City Watch series

Vimes is a Ravendor: he has very thoroughly laid out views about the law and its role in choosing the right thing to do. You could argue that he’s a burned Gryff, given how tight of a lid he has on his “inner darkness” (that shows up more later, and he’s not being entirely metaphorical), but he seems pretty stable and content with his system. Vimes doesn’t trust himself without his checks and boundaries, but he seems to be okay with that, even if he’s secretly afraid that the rules and accountability he’s laid out for himself someday won’t be enough.

His system doesn’t always match up with the law, but he uses the law to make sure he doesn’t stray too far off moral ground and into taking his wrath out on the guilty. Vimes actually gains a really useful reputation in later books as being fair and consistent and impossible to corrupt.

As for his secondary... he’s known as “Vetinari’s terrier.” He thinks he should be better at Ravenclaw secondary (putting together clues and so on) but mostly he runs off charge and intuition. There’s a really silly bit in Thud! where he’s constantly arguing with a magical Palm Pilot Sybil got for him, because he doesn’t have the patience to learn to use it. Whether he likes it or not, he’s a Gryff.

Sybil is either a Puff or Gryff primary; I lean towards Gryff for her. She’s got this very certain, intuitive core to her, and while she clearly holds a lot of Hufflepuffy values, she’s also very hard to sway or influence. She’s very solid in her morality, and I think that’s one of the things Vimes loves about her. Vimes has to work at staying moral 24/7, while Sybil just... is.

She’s a Ravenclaw secondary with a REALLY loud Hufflepuff secondary model. Hufflepuff is how she was raised to behave, and she likes it a lot, but she uses Ravenclaw without even thinking about it--the number of times she just pulls the "I happen to be prepared for this very specific situation" card out of her hat is wild, and she doesn’t even seem to think that what she’s doing is unusual.

It’s most obvious in The Fifth Elephant: not only does Sybil speak Dwarvish, but she sings a piece of a Dwarf opera to get them out of a tight corner, and then she semi-accidentally becomes an expert trade negotiator out of sheer curiosity, reading up on the notes left by the previous ambassador.

Also, it’s really cute that Vimes is a Ravendor and Sybil is a Gryffinclaw.

Carrot is hard to Sort. He gives off REALLY strong Hufflepuff vibes, of course, and he knows everyone and can be empathetic toward anyone. But he’s actually really hard to read. Angua certainly keeps expecting that he’s hiding layers of himself, but that’s probably because she’s got a lot of Slytherin to her (either Slytherdor or double Slytherin, her secondary might be a little singed; her primary definitely is).

I want to say that he’s a Hufflepuff secondary who’s really good at adapting to and mirroring other people, and Angua keeps mistaking this for Slytherin secondary. I think he’s a Gryffindor primary with a lot of Hufflepuffy values, like Sybil, and maybe he has a Slytherin model specifically for Angua (he drops everything for her early on in Fifth Elephant, possibly staking his life on the fact that she’ll come and find him when he does) --but I could be persuaded otherwise.

Phew, this is longer than I thought it’d be.

[inevitably-johnlocked]

hi, do you have some Johnlock shower sex fics (maybe bottomlock) ? thank you,love your blogs

Anonymous said to inevitably-johnlocked: Καλημέρα (or good afternoon depending where your from😁) Would you by any chance have any fics of john and sherlock like showering together? It could be smut or not, I just think that showering with your s/o is kinda cute and they would be adorable 🥺 Thank You 🥰

Anonymous said to inevitably-johnlocked: Hey, I was wondering if you have any fluffy bath-sharing fics?

Hi Nonny!

Aww, thanks, I’m glad you enjoy my blog!

AHHHH Okay so I know I have a tonne of fics with Shower Sex, but I haven’t started retagging fics until recently with this because someone asked me AGES ago with them, LOL

SHOWERING / BATHING TOGETHER

Through A Glass by Mildredandbobbin (M, 2,012 w., 1 Ch. || Voyeurism, Masturbation, First Kiss) – There is an adjoining door in the bathroom at 221B that leads into Sherlock’s bedroom. The door, from the bathroom to Sherlock’s bedroom, is made of three glass, semi-opaque panels. It has suddenly come to Sherlock’s attention that if he stands in exactly the right spot in his bedroom he can see through said panels, and more to the point, can see John.

Bathroom Accessories by Evenlodes_Friend (E, 3,324 w., 1 Ch. || Sex Toys, Butt Plug, First Kiss / Time, Romance, Horny Sherlock, John’s Patience Wears Thin, Humour, Bottomlock) – John discovers that Sherlock has been playing with some very adult toys in the bath.

Uninhibited by 221b_hound (M, 4,293 w., 1 Ch. || Bathing/Washing, Naked Cuddling, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Big Brother Mycroft, Relationship Negotiation, Massage, Sherlock Has a Low Libido, Pet Names) – Sherlock and John have been apart for the first time since Sherlock returned from the dead. Neither of them has had a good day. John's gets worse when Mycroft comes to Baker Street in Sherlock's absence to warn John Watson against disappointing his brother by expecting things to change. Mycroft has misjudged things rather badly. But finally he sods off and leaves John and Sherlock to reconnect, to give and receive comfort, and show each other that they are, indeed, perfectly matched. Part 15 of Unkissed

Linger by queenoftrivia (E, 4,879 w., 1 Ch. || Lingerie, Fluff and Smut, BJ / HJ, Switchlock, Sherlock in Lingerie, Come Play, Dirty Talk, Anal Fingering, Anal/Oral, Implied Shower Sex, Neck Kissing) – Sherlock decides to surprise John after a somewhat stressful day at work.

What Happens in Vegas (is legally binding in the United Kingdom) by  moonblossom (E, 5,051 w., 1 Ch. || Accidental Marriage, Friends to Husbands to Lovers, CSI Crossover, Fluff & Porn, Bathtub Sex, Hand Jobs, First Time) – When a case sends the boys to Vegas, John comes out of it with a bit more than he bargained for. Part 19 of Prompt Fills, Remixes, Works inspired by others

The Bathing Habits of Dr. John H. Watson by scullyseviltwin (T, 5,077 w., 1 Ch. || Angst, Happy Endings, Domestics, Baths, Slice of Life Snippets) – The knocks come crisply—three raps and then a long span of quiet. Slumping down further, John makes every effort to ignore the intrusion and relaxes as best he can in the less-than-ideal space available. If he doesn’t move, maybe he’ll be left in peace. There’s a brief respite of silence and then, again, three more raps on the door, in faster succession this time, followed by, “John, it’s been an hour, how can you possibly—” “We agreed two, two hours.” There’s no room for argument; John’s tone makes that very clear.It sounds as though Sherlock’s mouth is pressed right to the door when he next speaks. “What if I need the toilet!?”

Just Like That by sussexbound (E, 8,442 w., 1 Ch. || First Time/Kiss, Frottage, Virgin Sherlock, French Kissing, Anal, Emotional Lovemaking, Enthusiastic Consent, Tenderness, Crying John, Bathing/Washing, Insecure John, Toplock) – John doesn’t want to talk anymore. He wants. Oh dear god, how he wants. For the first time in what feels like years he WANTS.

Johnlock Ficlet Collection by Irrevocably_Sherlocked (E, 11,505+ w., 16/? Ch. [WiP] | Random Ficlets, Pining, Angst, Fluff & Smut, Parentlock, AU’s, First Kiss, Character POV’s) - Just a collection of Johnlock ficlets, originally posted on my Tumblr page.

I'll Meet You in Hong Kong by alexxphoenix42 (E, 12,767 w., 5 Ch. || Freebatch RPF || Phone / Shower Sex, Infidelity, Polyamory, Bit of Angst, Cuddles) – Benedict and Martin's busy, busy schedules have them grabbing a few nights together in Hong Kong during Ben's Doctor Strange junket. They both have news to share. While this does pick up after the story "Forever 1895," you don't absolutely have to read that one to dive on in here. Part 2 of Forever Freebatch

A Hundred Thousand Ways to Say the Name John by Jberry (E, 16,825 w., 1 Ch. || Fake Relationship, Fake Marriage, POV John, Pining John, Cruise Ship, Angst & Fluff, Case Fic) –  John Watson and Sherlock Holmes must solve a case on a cruise ship. To get close to the crew and passengers, they must get married for the case on the Baetica. However, their relationship hits rocky seas both due to the case and internal conflicts. Part 1 of Baetica

John Watson doesn't have a Boyfriend by naughtyspirit (E, 18,932 w., 7 Ch. || UST / URT, Fluff & Smut, Voyeurism, Masturbation) – John's date has gone very well. Sherlock requires tea. John wishes he hadn't resolved that their relationship was strictly hands off and isn't about to address it. Unless he has to. Smut, fluff and shower time for a naked John Watson.

Through the Clouds by Mazarin221b (E, 20,004 w., 6 Ch. || Retirement, Sussex, Bees, Home Improvement, First Time, Romance) – Sherlock takes a remarkably early retirement at 47, and convinces John that a change of pace would do them both good. They buy an old cottage on the South Downs, and exchange their nonstop life in Baker Street for quiet contemplation, bee studies, and book writing. They might go completely insane, but sometimes it takes stepping outside of the life you're living to find the life you want. Part 1 of Through The Clouds

The Whore of Babylon Was a Perfectly Nice Girl by out_there (E, 32,897 w., 1 Ch. || Past Drug Use, Blowjobs, Toplock, Mentions of Switching, Rough Sex, Background Cases, Sherlock’s Past, Sherlock’s Sexual History, Experienced Sherlock, Past One Night Stands, Fingering, Cuddling, Possessive Sherlock, Paris Holiday, Bed Sharing, Naked Lie-Ins, Bathing Together, Confessions, Worried Sherlock, Laying in Bed All Day, Meddling Mycroft, Naked Lazy Day) – Sherlock walks into a room and takes all the space right out of it. He does the same inside John's head.

Right Hand Man by SilentAuror (E, 42,031 w., 4 Ch. ||  H/C, Injury, Slow Burn) – When John's left arm becomes paralysed after a car accident, Mary asks Sherlock to take him back to Baker Street to recuperate, as she's about to give birth. Despite the fact that the search for Moriarty is ongoing, Sherlock takes John in and takes responsibility for overseeing his rehabilitation as he adjusts to the loss of his arm.

The Case of the Vanishing Pants by SwissMiss (E, 44,025 w., 6 Ch. || Five and Ones, Post-TRF, Case Fic, UST, Homophobia, Friends to Lovers, Pining John, Showering Together, Couple for a Case, Sherlock’s Bum, Fantasies, Jealous Sherlock) – Five times John and Sherlock lost their pants in the course of a case.

The Real Great Perfumers by shelleysprometheus (E, 45,355 w., 68 Ch. || Case Fic, Alternating POV, Gay Sherlock / Bi John, Canon Compliant with Divergence at TRF, Friends to Lovers, Oral / Anal, Pining, First Kiss / Time, Dev. Rel., Drugging, Body Worship, Bathing, Love Confessions, Travelling, Bottomlock, Cranky Sherlock, BJ’s, Alternating POV, Jealous John) – The case, this case. This extraordinary, fascinating, scintillating case. A house. Designed entirely by its eccentric owner, built by no less than five hundred expert tradesmen in the heart of Marrakesh. A house that had, seemingly not only driven its owner out, but also to his quite unpleasant death. And a perfumer, a chemist no less, the very thought of the secrets that house could reveal, would reveal was irresistible. Sherlock had to have this case ... and it seems, he also had to have John! Part 1 of the Forethought and Fire series

Guilty Secrets by Ellipsical (E, 55,086 w., 16 Ch. || Drumsticks, First Kiss/Time, Love Confession, Self-Sexual-Discovery, Anal, Rimming, Orgasim Denial, Butt Plugs, Cooking, Furniture Sex, Bath Sex, Rimming, Double Penetration, Prostate Massage, Anal Beads, Dancing, Romance, Tantric Edging, Internalized Homophobia, Case as Foreplay) – John has a prostate exam and discovers something surprising about himself. Experimentation follows. Sherlock wants to help. They're in love. You know the drill.

The Moonlight and the Frost by CaitlinFairchild (E, 77,289 w., 10 Ch. || Case Fic, Post-HLV, Self Harm, Virgin Sherlock, First Time, Oral/Anal/Rimming, Romance, Angst, Mary is Not Nice) – John has to somehow rebuild his life in the wake of Mary's betrayal and Sherlock's deceptions.

Not Broken, Just Bent by Schmiezi (E, 87,585 w., 43 Ch. || Pining, Love Confessions, Rape/Sexual Assault, Torture, Hurt/Comfort, Heavy Angst, Villain!Mary, Suicidal Ideations, Main Character Death, Sherlock First Person POV, Parentlock, Sherlock’s Mind Palace, Grief/Mourning, Emotional Love Making, Possessiveness, Depression, PTSD, Kidnapping, Virgin Sherlock, Eventual Happy Ending) – "For a second, I allow myself to remember teaching John how to waltz. There is a special room in my mind palace for it. A big one, with a proper parquet dance floor. For a second, I go there. I remember holding him, closer than the World Dance Council asks for, excusing it with the fact that we are training for a wedding, not for a competition. For a second, I feel his hand on mine again, smell his sweat, hear the song we used. For a second, I allow myself to love him deeply. For a second, only a second, that love reflects on my face." Fix-it for S3, starting at the end of TSoT. Evil Mary.

Northwest Passage by Kryptaria (E, 95,157 w., 27 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Canadian AU ||  BAMF!John, Canadian John, PTSD, Anal / Oral Sex, Rimming, Emotional Hurt / Comfort, Drug Rehab, Falling in Love, Pining Sherlock, Love Confessions, Sherlock’s Violin, Panic Attacks, Switching, Anxious / Protective Sherlock, Hugs for Comfort, Suicide Mentions, Healing Each Other) – Seven years ago, Captain John Watson of the Canadian Forces Medical Service withdrew from society, seeking a simple, isolated life in the distant northern wilderness of Canada. Though he survives from one day to the next, he doesn't truly live until someone from his dark past calls in a favor and turns his world upside-down with the introduction of Sherlock Holmes." Part 1 of Tales from the Northwest

The Wedding Garments by cwb (E, 105,390 w., 36 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Alternate Future AU || Alternate First Meeting, Dating / Arranged Marriages, Romance, First Kiss/Time, Heavy Petting, Cuddles, POV Sherlock, Virgin Sherlock, Idiots in Love, Slow Burn / Falling in Love / Dev. Rel., Nervous/Anxious Sherlock, Jealous/Cranky, Hiking, Vacation Homes / Honeymoon, Sherlock’s Family, Horny John/Sherlock, Patient John, Massages, Hand Jobs, Assassination Plots, Hand Jobs / Oral Sex, Case Fic, Emotional Love Making, Bath Time Fun) – This is the story of a young consulting detective who wants nothing to do with marriage and an army doctor who wants to find true love. It's 2020 post-Brexit England and the British government is encouraging arranged marriages. Candidates meet through state-run agencies and date in hopes of finding love (and tax benefits). Sherlock doesn't need or want a spouse, at least not until John Watson shows up. Hesitant to give in to his more carnal urges because of the way they derail his mind, how will Sherlock progress toward the more intimate aspects of a relationship? The answer lies in a very special wedding gift.

Two Two One Bravo Baker by abundantlyqueer (E, 114,574 w., 27 Ch. || Military AU || Afghanistan, War Story, Thriller, Switchlock, Rimming, Emotional Lovemaking, Lots of Sex, HJ/BJ’s) – Captain John Watson of 40 Commando, the Royal Marines, is assigned to protect and assist Sherlock Holmes as he investigates what appears to be a simple war atrocity in Afghanistan. An intense attraction ignites between the two men as they uncover a conspiracy that threatens everything they’ve ever known, but Sherlock is as much hunted as hunter, and everyone close to him is in deadly danger. Can he solve the case in time to save himself and John? Part 1 of Two Two One Bravo Baker Universe

Against the Rest of the World by SilentAuror (E, 151,714 w., 20 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Post-TRF, Hiatus Fic, POV First Person Sherlock, Present Tense, First Kiss/Time, Big Brother Mycroft, Escaping from Capture, Soft Sherlock, Toplock, Insecurity, Infidelity, Travelling, Introspection, Pining Sherlock, Depression, Fantasies, Yearning for the Past, PTSD Sherlock, Suicidal Ideation) – Sherlock has been away from London for nine hundred and twelve days and counting, and has no idea what sort of reception to expect when he finally returns.

Proving A Point by elldotsee & J_Baillier (E, 186,270 w., 28 Ch. || Me Before You Fusion || Medical Realism, Insecure John, Depression, Romance, Angst, POV John, Sherlock Whump, Serious Illness, Doctor John, Injury Recovery, Assisted Suicide, Sherlock’s Violin, Awkward Sexual Situations, Alcoholism, Drugs, Idiots in Love, Slow Burn, Body Image, Friends to Lovers, Hurt / Comfort, Pain, Big Brother Mycroft, Intimacy, Anxiety, PTSD, Family Issues, Psychological Trauma, John Whump, Case Fics, Loneliness, Pain) – Invalided home from Afghanistan, running out of funds and convinced that his surgical career is over, John Watson accepts a mysterious job offer to provide care and companionship for a disabled person. Little does he know how much hangs in the balance of his performance as he settles into his new life at Musgrave Court.

[sole-cuore-amore-e-droga]

Belgium brings their ex-vocalist back to Rotterdam 2021

Here we chop chop boys like we chop chop wood

This review space would’ve been reserved for Belarus. Unfortunately, their broadcaster was not ready to make nice, and ultimately refused to serve EBU with anything but not-even-so-thinly-veiled propaganda, so much so that EBU, after all they’ve given the time for them for to snap out of it, finally had to be like “bye bitch” (- Lizzo) with enough push from the fandom, and informed everyone that Belarus will miss this year’s contest <3

Which means that I don’t have to deal with 41, but with 39 writeups to do overall, if my timing permits! The Roop could’ve always used a little less competition, anyway /j

Speaking of The Roop’s competition, time to aim at another one of their semifinal folk with a review. Come forth, Belgium!

ARTIST & ENTRY INFO

Hooverphonic, eventhough they’re not as big of a name as Flo Rida, is the biggest act to compete in this year’s Eurovision, and even had lasted longer as a thing than Flo Rida. He barely even got his proper famous kickstart around in the 2000s. Hoover have been around at least for 5 years more than him, if “Years active” section on Wikipedia is anything to go by. And back then they were just known as Hoover, correct. Their lineup of singers has changed for quite some time, but otherwise the band since its inception is rooted in basically two men: Alex Callier and Raymond Geerts. They used to have a keyboardist too but was he a part of their glory years in 2000? No? Thought so, he’s irrelevant then. In fact, their first vocalist wasn’t even present on their first album, so they went to have another one, who did just one album with them before 2000 and left. Now I’m only constantly and consistently bringing up 2000 because that’s when they had their break out moment in relevancy - after they changed their singer once more before they found someone called Geike Arnaert - the woman you’re seeing on the MV’s thumbnail right now, and not someone certain for whom there was a public outcry for she is the only Hooverphonic component that’s not coming back from 2020 to 2021. But more on that later. I’m here to present you the break-out hit, for those who just don’t know:

I used to like to think of Hoovers as trip-hop sensations, well not in the style of Massive Attack because they have their trip-hop sound with actual hip hop thrown in, Hooverphonic’s style is that but with a tinge of symphonic.

Well, “Mad About You” wasn’t really the only hit they had, before that they got a bunch of minor and domestic hits, and their music was used for soundtracks. So it’s a little bit cheating still to think of “Mad About You” as their breakout hit, but that’s still the biggest song of the band. If I were to recommend you stuff from them that aren’t necessarily the biggest hits but still, “The Night Before” with yet another one of their vocalists is pretty good.

So when I tell you that Hooverphonic is a band of a very long career. Well some bands do survive a lot without having their lineup change for 10+ years, but Hooverphonic vocalistes come and go sometimes, and for 2020 forray, when they were first announced, they came in to that talk show studio where they were guests in with a promising little starlet Alex Callier found at The Voice Belgium (for the Flanders region) and was her mentor there, Luka Cruysberghs, as their current vocalist.

Is it just me or her and Stefania Liberakakis look like they could be cousins?

All went smooth and dandy, until Alex started spouting stuff about Eurovision the fans found not amusing, such as calling Eurovision a circus or something, later begging and pleading to medias that his statement was “lost in translation” - now I would say it happens to the best of us, like for Tornike, but deep inside I think I know Alex meant what he meant, inside or outside context. Because everything just went even more sour when everyone found out Hooverphonic were missing from the common song “Love Shine a Light” for the 2020 consolation programme in place of Eurovision, and when they were forced to explain, Alex just straight up said he didn’t like the song, so he decided to not do it. Fuck, I myself don’t adore the 1997 winning song, but I like it, and would’ve still done a piece of that song out of respect. Take it or leave it, god damn. Also they were noted to be the only people plugging in their other material in the time when Eurovision 2020 artists on the consolation programme were either saying inspirational stuff or “hope to see you soon!” or a combo of both, once again, courtesy of mostly Alex. Now I’m not saying his ego is bigger than Kirkorov’s... of fucking course not, no one has an ego bigger than Kirkorov’s. The only thing that can beat him in that regard is if someone booked Kanye West for Eurovision last minute.

Following 2021, they were very excited to jump on the “leave 2020 songs behind” train, while a few artists like VICTORIA and The Roop rallied for to keep their entries in tact if they were allowed to. And with that, in late 2020, they went ahead and celebrated the 20 years of “Mad About You” by getting rid of Luka as a vocalist and bringing back the aforementioned Geike to reprise her part. Seems pretty reasonable, but for the Eurofandom it was simply seen as a dick move, and mostly for the reason that all 2020 artists deserve a 2021 chance, even if they’re band members. What felt more dickish is that Luka was straight up told “byeeee u’re no longer our bandmate xo” on a Zoom call between band members. Like, it’s fine to be told you’re fired in person, even if still humiliating, because what’s the other better way? What’s equally worse is to be told this via email, but the email you were sent was sent like a few months ago and you only read it NOW. At least I guess that proves we know what the “sad and losing game” was that Luka asked to be released from now, heh.

Not to worry Luka-stans, as Alex will still have her, just as not the part of the band anymore. But instead give her a solo career. Yeah well we’ll see how long that lasts.

With the 2000 glory heydays lineup of Hooverphonic we have their entry be “The Wrong Place”, as the completely quite different song they promised (or didn’t) when saying that they will certainly and absolutely get rid of their old one for the 2021 if they had a choice. What they didn’t get rid of is the theme of the worse part of relationships - “Release Me” is about probably wanting to be let go of and released rather than kept by the side when it’s probably not working out. “The Wrong Place” is one of those episodes that probably happened during then - they had a house conflict, she chose to have a smoke to forget about it, the man’s after her Johnny Cash T-Shirt. Not much else to say about the song’s technicality fortunately than I’ve already said so much about the band, so how does it fare in the Hoover-lore, for me?

REVIEW

See, I would like to root for Luka ever having her chance to get to experience Eurovision if she wishes, but maybe it’s lowkey for her own benefit she wasn’t the chosen vocalist for the song, as Geike could do “Release Me”, but Luka wouldn’t be able to do “The Wrong Place”.

“The Wrong Place” is well-suited to the first vocaliste’s melancholic blend-in timbre, and a singer like Luka would sound a little too light on this with her soft-spoken sound of her voice. Besides, I don’t think she could be old enough to relate to the lyrical subject’s domestic struggle issue. Not to say 20 year olds don’t smoke and drink, it’s just that “The Wrong Place” feels a little bit too much mature enough.

Although I think that both of them could absolutely rock the music video visuals.

The song itself is very Hooverphonic. They used to do this kind of standout triphoppy sound back in the days, but as of lately they kind of grew out of the label to do more of the music that kinda sounds like movie soundtrack music. Idek the exact label I could give it to their music so move soundtrack music it is I guess. It has a decently paced structure (could’ve done without the overly repetitive ending where they repeat “you’re in the wrong place” over and over, like ffs I know where I am!!), and interesting lyrical choices. Such as “organic cup of... tea”, as in, WOW! HOOVERPHONIC HAS ENOUGH WITH THE TEABAGS FULL OF GROUND AND GRINDED TEA! THEY WILL ONLY MAKE TEA FROM PURE HERBS AND FLOWERS, AS IT WAS USED TO BE DONE! and acting like her Johnny Cash T-Shirt is the kind of prized possession her man is not allowed to wear to rub it in her face. Imagine if it was something more mundane. “Don’t you ever dare to wear my... pink polka-dot T-shirt”? Damn right it doesn’t seem to suit the mood lol.

It’s not what I exactly wanted from Hooverphonic, but probably what I subconsciously needed from them anyway, ever since they were announced for 2020. I only got into “Release Me” sometime AFTER the contest, “The Wrong Place” is a bit more instant to stand behind. So well done to them to commit to their craft.

Approval factor: I guess I do have to stamp this with my stamp of approval. It’s nice and all. Follow-up factor: “The Wrong Place” follows up as a more of a Hooverphonic discography track after the fairly average and overlookable “Release Me” (eventhough the latter has the tinge of theirs as well because it’s a more symphonic ballad, and they do have symphonic stuff on their discog afterall). As a Eurovision entry, it comes across as even better somewhat, and even slightly more standout, but that might not necessarily work in their favour. Qualification factor: And that’s because they’re absolutely stranded in the semi with too many qualification choices to name. Belgium gets to be a bit quasi-obvious, but they’ve failed with a Hooverphonic-penned song before, plus, the pop girlies of this semi are more likely to eat out a band like this alive, but I wouldn’t exactly say Belgium is doomed to fail either, because I am positive Hooverphonic will think of something. I’m just saying that shocking things can happen every now and then.

INTERNAL CORNER

Well, considering Alex Callier is not running his mouth this time as much as he did so last year’s season, I think it’s safe to say that Hooverphonic have had nothing to write home about.

No, wait...

Well I did mention that Luka got replaced as one of the events that happened to Hooverphonic’s lifetime, but thank God that Alex promised her a solo career, right? Right?

Well, apparently, we’re getting towards it.

And the first lyrics of her first solo forray post-Hooverphonic-vocalist-duties features the lyrics about possibly her making someone “regret it”. Lol now watch this song to be a karma kick into Hooverphonic’s ass if Belgium happens to not qualify this year. Luka forewarned y’all with sharp precision.

Annnnnd that’s pretty much it, besides the band jumping on the trend of turning their entries into a Festivali i Këngës 59 acoustic night European version by presenting their own acoustic version of this track. I did not have the kind of courage to link to the Azerbaijan’s “slow version” on their review in fear of overruning my post even longer than they would usually be for these reviews, but at least it moves people to a certain degree

Well, my question of the days is, does “The Wrong Place” in acoustic make you sad twerk?

ANY LAST WORDS?

Belgium’s big weakness is when it comes to stage their entries, notably for the last two years where the Eurovision actually happened. Sennek was awkwardly put in the middle and succumbed to the curse of Lucie Jones of grimmacing too much and therefore ruining her score in the process, possibly. Eliot was just simply upstaged by the decision to include big drums on stage. Alex Callier acknowledges all that sort of thing, so if anything goes absolutely right and Hooverphonic manage to make it to Rotterdam (which I think they can do because Belgium and Netherlands are neighbours lol? unless their lockdown rules get super strict in May), he should get on to mending all the flaws that Belgium had in the past for staging, and have a spectacular vision. Because it’d be sadly hilariously ironic if Hoovers miss out on the final due to the staging again. Can’t just constantly blame the vocalist - Geike would be flawless live, if Hooverphonic trusted in her for so many years. Can’t blame the song - it’s not too bad. So staging, I guess.

Good luck Hooverphonic, you’ll certainly need it. Also can RTBF consider that they could send anything else from the Wallonian music scene other than The Voice Belgique acts~

[mostly-marvel-musings]

A Mere Mortal - Chapter Three

A/N: This story is based on the prompt : Vampires cannot enter a house without your permission, but what if your landlord’s a vampire? It’s his house, he’s just letting you live there. Part of the Landlord Vampire Fic Frenzy hosted by the amazing @just-the-hiddles . I’m super nervous about this one, so feedback’s most welcome!

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Vampire! Bucky Barnes x Vampire! Loki x Human! Reader

Word count: 2570. Yep. This one’s a bit lengthy!

Warnings: 18+ stuff. Some smut!! Foul language. Vampire Diaries reference?

Tags: @buckybarnesplumwhore @ladyacrasia @tcc-gizmachine @alexakeyloveloki

Taglists open! Send me an ask if you wish to be tagged!

...

“What did you say?” your mouth hung open and eyes went wide as Bucky uttered those words.

He chuckled looking at your stunned expression and said, “You heard me. The town’s history is rich with legends and myths of vampires and ghouls. I’m sure you could find tons of books about them in the library.”

“That is fantastic! Oh my God I knew I chose this town for a reason!” you were practically giddy with excitement.

“You keep surprising me (Y/N). A normal reaction to this would either be a person packing up his things and getting the fuck outta here or laughing in my face.” He said as you both walked out of the store.

You rolled your eyes and repeated your previous statement, “And I’ll keep breaking the stereotypes Mr Barnes. I don’t usually fit into the ‘normal’ box. And it’s a good thing.”

It sure is, he thought gazing at your form in the street light. The warm glow of the sodium vapor lamps made your face appear warm and alluring. The cold air made your breath visible, creating wonderful patterns against the night sky. Your scent intoxicated his mind and he couldn’t simply say goodbye to you just yet.

“Let me walk you home doll, wouldn’t want you getting attacked by vampires on your first week here.” he said placing a hand on the small of your back as you both turned towards Chapel Street.

“I could kick his ass, I can kick box pretty well you know. Not outrun him though, if he’s anything like the ones in Vampire Diaries. You know where they go whoosh from one place to another in a second? Have you seen it?” you asked making an attempt to gesture the fast running from the show.

He doesn’t seem like a guy who would watch the teen shows with way too many hot vampire and hybrid guys. Why did you even ask that? You seemed to lose your ability to carry on a decent conversation with this guy. That was a first.

“Never mind. So gimme more information on the legends. I’ll pester Frank tomorrow at the library but nothing like stories heard from local peeps right?” you teased hoping he’d forget you had asked a stupid question initially.

“I’ve grown up listening to these stories from my grandma, my mom, just everybody. Though their versions vary slightly.

The one that’s stuck around for centuries is about Lucas and Morwenna Klyn.” Bucky looked at you, he had lowered his voice slightly and his hand hadn’t left its place from your back.

You were trying to adjust the weight of the shopping bags in your hands, but hearing those names you looked up and couldn’t help snort a laugh.

“They sure sound like names straight out of a horror book. Go on.”

“Morwenna was said to have migrated here from somewhere near Ireland about 200 years ago and had found this town most to her liking. She was this evil vampire who had witchy abilities-

“Like a hybrid? That’s one thing missing from the Vampire Diaries, they’ve got werewolf vampires but not witchy vampires. Oh but there’s that original witch Esther.”

It was like your mouth was out of control. Rambling absolute nonsense when this very hot guy was eager to tell you stories about his hometown.

“I’m so sorry. I don’t know why said that. I’m just a little crazy about all of this. I’ll keep my mouth shut now I promise.” You said physically putting a finger on your lips, adjusting the two bags in your left hand.

“I’ll forgive you this time.” He narrowed his impossibly gorgeous eyes seriously but the smile playing on his lips.

“So Morwenna had all sorts of powers, she was said to have the ability to control people’s minds, make them do her bidding. She met Lucas here in Dewsbury and he fell madly in love. Typical. Morwenna was beautiful, anybody would fall in love with her. She had a way with words too.

One day Lucas found her feeding on his younger sister Evelyn in these very woods. Her fangs dug deep in his sister’s neck, sucking the life out of her, Lucas watched in horror as Evelyn turned paler and paler in front of his eyes. He ran to stop her but was too late. Evelyn dropped to the ground like a piece of rock, her lifeless eyes still staring at Lucas even though there wasn’t any life in them anymore. Morwenna wiped the blood off her chin and approached Lucas, hunger still visible in her jet black eyes. She bared her fangs and Lucas made a run for his life.

Little did he know that she loved chasing her prey. Making them run for their lives, like feeble little lambs made her feel like a true hunter. She fed on him but didn’t kill him. Instead she turned him into a vampire. Evelyn’s ghost is said to haunt these woods till date. And here we are.” Bucky came to a stop abruptly.

“Whoa. You can’t leave me on this horrific info. I wanna know the rest.” You didn’t realize you reached your house so soon. You wanted to invite him in but he interrupted your thoughts.

“We’ll continue later. I’ve already taken up a lot of your time. You need rest (Y/N). Meet me for drinks at the pub tomorrow?” Bucky stuffed his hands back in his pockets and looked at you expectantly.

“Done. If you don’t show up at the pub on time, I’ll show up at your house and irritate the fuck out of you until you complete the story.” you threatened jokingly but you were very capable of doing that. Though you didn’t exactly know where he lived, you could figure it out sure.

He laughed out loud and the sound made your stomach do somersaults.

Even his laugh is fucking perfect.

“Relax I’ll be there. Goodnight (Y/N).”

He went for a handshake but you went for a side hug, you met somewhere awkwardly in between.

“Goodnight Bucky. Thanks for walking me home.”

“Even though you can kick box.” Bucky teased, making you chuckle.

He turned and started walking into the woods. You stared at his back for a good two minutes fighting the urge to say something but failed.

“Don’t let Evelyn haunt you in there.”

“Don’t worry I can kick box too.” He turned as he replied and shot you a wink.

You watched him until he disappeared into the night and turned to walk inside your house.

Setting the bags on your beige granite countertop, you looked out the kitchen window that overlooked the woods. They sure looked creepy, you were busy thinking about your extremely charming landlord though.

Smiling like an idiot, you were interrupted by a much too loud growl emitted from your belly.

“Shit! Dinner.”

…

You peeked open one eye to check the time, it read 6:01 am. You had woken up way too early. Maybe you could sleep in for a few more hours, but then you couldn’t once you were fully awake. Perils of being a light sleeper. Sprucing up the place seemed like a good idea, anyways there were a lot of boxes yet to be unpacked, especially your writing material.

What was the main reason for moving here? Writing!

And you were yet to set up your writer’s desk which you were very particular about. And couldn’t just have one writing spot. Inspiration struck at the most random places and situations and you had gotten pretty good at being prepared for that. It always helped to have a great view outside the window. Something about staring off into the distance made your brain come up with a thousand ideas.

The cabin bedroom was a large space, enough to set up a decent writing space. There was a ledge that ran along the bedroom window which was wide enough for you to sit and the bed was attached to it and it had the most gorgeous view of the woods; that would work too.

So you got to work after taking a shower and whipping up a quick breakfast for yourself.

A progress update meeting about your new book was in two months, which seemed like a long time but really you’d be needing all the time you could get to whip out another best seller. Which meant you needed to start writing as soon as possible.

After setting up the ‘work space’ you opened your computer, grabbed your glasses and stared at the blank word document for a few minutes.

Time to block out all the X rated thoughts about your super hot landlord (Y/N). Let’s get some work done, a draft, a outline structure, something. You can do this.

...

The concept of time soon lost on you once you began. It was going well, the ideas were flowing and you were typing them out at lightening speed.

A ding from your phone that lit up next to your laptop startled you out of your zone. It was a text from Bucky.

I’ll see you at the pub in fifteen? - James B

Had you really been writing for that long? Apparently you completely forgot about lunch. And now there wasn’t enough time.

Hurriedly you texted back a reply and got dressed. Drinks on an empty stomach never ended well in your case, you wished you had set an alarm or something.

...

You walked in the dimly lit pub and instantly the smell of booze and bar snacks filled your nostrils. You heard your name being called out from the far end and turned to see Bucky waving you over to a corner booth.

A warm smile on his face as you walked closer and you noticed he was wearing a leather jacket over a dark shirt, looking handsome as ever. He stood up to greet you in a hug.

“You look beautiful.” He said as you took off your jacket and sat opposite him on the semi circled sofa. This place looked like it belonged in the 80s. It probably did.

“Thanks you too.” your cheeks reddened further at your embarrassing response and the initial compliment, you closed your eyes and looked down. Fucking nerves.

Luckily he saved you by not dwelling on it further and asked what you’d have to drink.

“I’ll have the local beer please.”

Eyebrows raised in surprise as he probably saw you as a wine girl. You just shrugged at this point.

“Breaking stereotypes. Got it.” He replied nodding his head with a wide grin as he placed the order.

The conversation flowed as easily as the drinks and soon you had that much too familiar buzz. You were in the middle of explaining a funny incident that happened with you and Sam, giggling way too much when you were interrupted.

“Well if its not the famous (Y/N).” the smooth accented voice reached your ears as you slowly turned to see Loki standing near your booth grinning down at the pair of you.

“Famous? Am I famous?” you grinned back, the edge clearly off at this point. Loki had creeped you out in your meeting.

You missed the slight disappointment on Bucky’s face as you invited Loki to join you guys. Of course he covered it up and slid over to sit next to you, protectively close as Loki sat opposite you.

“So (Y/N), are you enjoying our little town?” Loki put both his hands on the table and leaned over to speak.

“I really am. People are so nice here, I’m not used to that. And Dewsbury has the most fascinating history!”

“So you know about the vampires?” Loki smirked as he glanced at Bucky who was shooting him a warning look.

“Oh yeah in fact, Bucky never got to finish the story last night because it was too late. I’m here to know the whole truth and nothing but the truth.” you said a bit too dramatically.

Damn this stuff was strong.

The men entertained you with stories of their own for the rest of the night and asked you about your life. You felt quite safe and were enjoying the little flirty banter going on between the three of you. You definitely had one too many pints.

You stood up to leave and instantly the room spun before your eyes. Loki’s hands landed on your shoulders to keep you steady.

“You alright there darling?” he asked, gazing into your eyes. You placed your hands over his as you nodded slowly and giggled.

Suddenly you felt Bucky slide a protective arm around your waist and pull you to his side, earning an eye roll from Loki.

“I got her. Let’s get you home (Y/N).” He said as he walked you both out of the pub, leaving Loki behind.

“I didn’t take you for a light weight doll.” Bucky looked at you as you had your arms around him to keep you steady.

“I’m really not. I just, I skipped lunch today.” you kept your eyes on the road as you approached your cabin much quicker than you realized.

“I just got into writing and lost track of time, not because I skip meals. I love to eat!” you clarified with another small giggle, as you both came to a halt in front of the house.

“Don’t sleep on an empty stomach (Y/N). I hope you have some food at home. If not we can go somewhere-

“No need Sir, I have some leftovers in the fridge. Thank you for walking me home. Again. You’re the best.” you leaned over and pressed a kiss to his cheek and lingered a bit.

He reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind you ears and glanced at your lips. He really wanted to kiss you, know what you tasted like. Know how your body felt against his. Though now wasn’t the time, it would be taking advantage.

He said goodbye and watched you get in before turning back and walking home. At least you were safe.

...

Your body was on fire. Every touch every kiss made your head spin. He was leaving a trail of hot kisses down your jaw and neck before reaching the spot that made you moan loudly as he sucked hard.

You rolled over and straddled his hips placing your hands over his toned chest. You leaned down to kiss him and he sighed opening his mouth to allow your tongue to explore it further. The fight for dominance continued as his hands tugged your hair. You slid your own in his raven black hair.

You rolled your hips against his clothed erection earning another grunt from him. You were placing wet kisses down his torso almost reaching the waistband of his underwear when he grabbed you and spoke in that deep honey dripping voice,

“We have plenty of time for that later darling. Allow me to taste you first.” Your eyes flew open as you stared at Loki’s lust filled face.

Your skin was on fire still as you jolted awake. Your arousal evident between your legs as you sat up. Grabbing a bottle of water from the ledge you took a big swig and walked into the bathroom.

Loki smirked as he noticed your flustered state through your bedroom window, before he turned and vanished into the night.

...

[patchworkofstars]

How (Not) to Meet Your Soulmate

Read on AO3

Relationships: Prinxiety and Logicality

Words: 4,082

Synopsis: It's moving-in day at college, and soulmates Logan and Patton are looking forward to finally meeting in person after years of writing each other messages on their skin. Their friends Roman and Virgil, however, just can't seem to do things the easy way!

** Thanks to: **

@lovelylogans​ for the Secret Santa wishes that inspired this fic in the first place

@metaphoricalpluto​ for helping me brainstorm ideas, listening to me rant, and generally being an awesome and supportive bean

@painfullybisexual for going above and beyond in helping me understand how US colleges work

~~*~~*~~*~~*~~

“How”, complains Roman, “Is anyone meant to fit all their outfits into a shoebox like that?” He waves a frustrated arm at the tiny closet the college has provided, then glares at the three cases worth of clothes on his bed. The pile steadfastly fails to reduce.

“I managed it okay!” the room’s other occupant points out cheerfully, smiling over from where he’s pinning photographs of family, friends, and various cute animals haphazardly onto a cork notice board.

“I meant anyone fashionable", Roman amends, flashing his childhood friend and now roommate a grin to show he means no malice.

Patton giggles, reaching to pin another photo, then drops it with a sudden squeal. Grabbing a bright blue pen from his desk, he flings himself joyfully onto his bed, all else temporarily forgotten in favour of the neat indigo text rapidly appearing on his arm.

Roman rolls his eyes. “What time is your date with Logan?” he asks, once Patton has finished replying to his soulmate and flopped back onto his bed with a contented sigh.

“Four o’clock, at the fountain in the main quad”, Patton says, a dreamy look in his eyes. “I can’t believe I’m finally going to meet him face to face!”

“Yes...” Roman busies himself cramming yet more outfits onto the already overstuffed rail in his closet, while studiously avoiding looking at his own, conspicuously bare arm.

“Have you arranged when you’re gonna meet Virgil yet?” The question was inevitable; it’s not Patton’s fault that Roman was hoping not to hear it.

Roman pauses in the act of hanging up a prince costume he's sure he'll find an essential use for at some point. "We're thinking of meeting tomorrow instead", he replies, keeping his tone light. "Virgil's stressed about moving in and navigating the new place, even with Logan around, and we figured after all these years we can survive another day apart."

“You don’t mind waiting?” Patton sits up, frowning, and Roman tries not to squirm under his gaze.

He grimaces. “Well, okay, I'm not thrilled about it, but I want to do what’s best for Virgil. And besides, now we’re on the same campus, there’s a chance fate might intervene.” He presses his hands to his chest, his expression morphing into the smile of an incurable daydreamer. “An encounter of destiny, unplanned, between two souls bound to each other! Doesn’t that sound so much more exciting than something planned?”

“Well, as long as it’s what you guys both want!” Patton smiles, uncapping his pen once more and drawing a heart on his arm. As soon as Roman turns away to continue unpacking, he bites his lip. Beginning a new message to Logan, he thanks the universe, not for the first time, that his soulmate and Roman’s are best friends too.

~~*~~*~~*~~

Logan finished unpacking over an hour ago, taking pleasure in carefully organising his small selection of semi-formal clothes and his more extensive collection of books. Now, he sits relaxing at his desk, reading information about the college in between messages too and from Patton.

Reaching the end of a paragraph, he glances once more at his left arm and notices a new stretch of blue ink dancing its way into being across the skin. He frowns thoughtfully as he reads the words. Hmm…

He looks over to where Virgil is lying back on his bed, surrounded by messy heaps of his unpacked belongings. His eyes are closed and he's listening to music on his headphones, shutting out the chaos and unfamiliarity of his surroundings. Still, Logan knows that exclusion doesn't extend to himself. They've been friends since middle school, and the neurodiversity that brought them together has given them a shared need for space and stability. Virgil finds organising his room a trial, so, on Logan's advice, he's pacing himself. First, he unpacked by dumping everything out of his bags, and now he's taking a break before tackling the more substantial chore of organising it all for the year ahead.

Watching Virgil twitch slightly to the beat of the music, Logan considers. Patton's concern is a reasonable one. Logan was surprised himself by Virgil's reluctance to meet Roman, and while he didn't press the issue at the time, his soulmate has offered a different perspective. Perhaps some subtle investigating is in order after all.

“Virgil”, he begins, to get his roommate’s attention, “Why are you delaying meeting Roman? I realise you find the prospect of meeting new people a stressful one, but surely you cannot consider Roman a stranger after so many years of communication with him?”

Virgil grimaces, opening his eyes and rolling over to face Logan. “Take a wild guess”, he grunts. “I’m putting it off because I know he’s gonna be disappointed. I’ve been able to make him think I’m cool and edgy in writing, but that won’t last two minutes in person when I don’t have all that extra time to think about what to say.”

Logan frowns. “I have never read any reputable reports of people being disappointed when meeting their soulmates. On the contrary, most studies have found a remarkable degree of compatibility between even those with markedly different personalities.”

“Tell that to my anxiety, L.” Virgil sighs, propping himself up onto an elbow. “It’s just a massive step, you know? Feels like too much to handle on the same day as moving in here.”

“Entirely reasonable.” Logan gives what he hopes is a reassuring smile. “It was not my intention to pressure you into meeting sooner. Still, I want you to know I am confident that when you do meet Roman, you will find him happy to accept every side of you, even the ones you struggle to accept yourself.”

“Maybe.” Virgil clearly isn’t convinced, but Logan decides to drop the topic for now. If he’s still refusing to meet Roman tomorrow, they can discuss the issue further then.

He glances at his watch. "I need to leave soon for my planned meeting with Patton. Will you be okay without me?"

“Already?” Virgil groans, flopping onto his back once more.

“We arranged to meet an hour before the new students' assembly to give us ample time for conversation." He hesitates, trying not to sound reluctant as he adds, "If you need to come with me, I am sure Patton will understand."

Virgil shudders. “Hell no, I don’t wanna watch you being sappy and weird. I’ll be okay. Probably turn my music up and kill time by organising some of my stuff.”

Logan nods. “A sensible idea.” Picking up his bag, he checks he has everything he wants to take with him, then takes a deep breath. “I will see you later. Please send me a text if you need me. I may not see it immediately, but I will be sure to check periodically in case.”

Hand on the door handle, he freezes abruptly as an unexpected wave of nervous adrenaline hits him. Distantly, he’s aware of Virgil asking if he’s okay, and he nods despite the way his heart is hammering in his chest. “Text me if you need me”, he repeats, the words a mantra of friendship. Then the handle turns, and he is on his way.

~~*~~*~~*~~ 

It’s 3:55 when Logan arrives at the fountain, his usual precise punctuality waved in the hope of seeing Patton's. He sits down on the curved stone seat, hands gripping the concrete to still their shaking as he scans the crowds moving around him. The walk across campus has helped to clear the nervous fog from his mind, but the way his heart is pounding, a less scientific thinker would say it was trying to escape his chest.

Wrapped up in these thoughts, he doesn’t notice Patton until the man is six yards away, his long stride rapidly closing that distance. Logan freezes, his heart continuing its thudding beat but somehow doubling the rate, and he has to force himself to breathe. He stands on shaking legs, his eyes fixed irresistibly on the figure now standing before him.

Patton beams down, all tan skin and cotton candy sweater. “Logan?” he asks breathlessly, and Logan’s head nods mechanically as he stares.

Patton's smile somehow widens even further, and he shakes his hands at his sides as if needing to expend some of his boundless excited energy. "I'm so happy to finally meet you! Face to face, I mean! Is it okay if I shake your hand? It sounds silly, but I kinda need to touch you so that I'll know you're really real!"

Something in Logan’s chest relaxes, letting him breathe more easily at last. “I assure you I am no illusion”, he says, smiling as he holds out his left hand.

Patton stares at it, then giggles, and Logan suddenly understands the metaphor of being hit by Cupid’s arrow.

“I forgot we’re opposite-handed!" Patton explains, holding out his own left hand to shake Logan’s eagerly. “I mean, I knew, obviously, but it’s somehow different seeing it in person. Like, now I really know, you know?”

"Indeed, observing for oneself is generally more impactful than hearing information secondhand.” Logan smiles up at him. “You are taller than I expected. For some reason, I assumed you would be approximately my height or shorter, although I now realise that was irrational of me."

Does he sound silly? Perhaps, but he’s unexpectedly overwhelmed by the feelings Patton is eliciting in him. They’ve been having written conversations ever since their soul connection formed, and over time a friendly intimacy has developed between them. Several years have passed since he became aware of the warm sensation thoughts of Patton bring to his chest.

But now, having the man standing before him, seeing his brown eyes sparkling with joy and excitement and the affection in his smile... Hearing his voice and the soft lilt of his accent... Logan has never felt so much all at once before, and it's sending his usually tidy thoughts swirling and scattering like papers in a sudden breeze.

Patton laughs, and the sound shoots another arrow of giddy heat into Logan's chest. "Guess we never thought to tell each other our heights, huh? I'm kinda glad I'm taller than you, though, wanna know why?"

“Why is that?” Logan asks, dazed.

Patton beams at him. "'Cause it means I can wrap you up in a great big hug like I've always wanted to! If you're okay with it, that is?"

Logan nods emphatically, finding his expansive vocabulary buried beneath the sudden lump in his throat. As Patton wraps strong arms around him and rests a warm cheek on his hair, his eyes prickle with what he’s confused to realise are tears. The sensation is so rare, it takes a moment for him to connect them to the glow of happiness spreading through him. With a contented sigh, he raises his own arms to hug Patton back, settling comfortably into his embrace.

~~*~~*~~*~~ 

Virgil sits on the edge of his bed, frantically bouncing one knee as he wonders if he should set out alone to the assembly. Deep in his spiralling thoughts, he startles hard when his phone buzzes with a text from Logan.

“Salutations,

Would it be possible for you to make your way to the event without me? I realise it may be selfish, but I am keen to spend as much time as possible getting to know Patton better. You are welcome to sit with us if we encounter you when we get there.

- Logan”.

Dammit. It’s what Virgil was expecting, but that doesn’t mean he’s happy about it. He hates both crowds and formal events, and the thought of walking into this combination alone causes bitter dread to pool in the pit of his stomach. Plus, going without Logan means he’s almost guaranteed to end up sitting next to total strangers. He shudders.

Still, he refuses to make Logan worry. Firing back a quick “I’ll be okay”, he puts his earphones in and tries to lose himself in the music as he makes his way across campus to the venue.

Head down, eyes fixed on the ground a foot ahead of him, he tries to forget just how many people are heading the same way he is. As he approaches the hall, he becomes vaguely aware of a loud voice talking nearby. The small part of his mind paying attention concludes it's a telephone conversation, since only one side can be heard.

“But you can’t just abandon me to sit on my own!” the voice wails. “What will people think?! Yes, I’m sure he is handsome and smart and wonderful, but bros before souls, that’s what I always say. Well, okay, maybe I’ve never said it before, but I’m saying it now! Yes, I know, I can hear him. You're right, his accent is cute. I can’t wait to hear my soulmate's- OUCH!!"

A flailing arm thuds into Virgil, who is nearly thrown off balance by the shock of the impact. He looks up, glaring daggers, to find the loudmouth scowling back with equal fury.

“Watch where you’re going, clod!” the overdressed stranger rants.

“Same to you, watch where you’re flinging your arms!”

"I'm having an important conversation-"

“What’s the point in waving your arms around when the person on the phone can’t even-”

They're interrupted by an official-sounding voice ringing out over a tannoy, reminding everyone that the assembly will begin soon and they should hurry inside and find seats.

The disparate parts of the crowd begin to converge, pushing into the hall, and Virgil and the loud stranger are carried along side by side in the flow. They find themselves pushed together to sit on the end of a row of chairs, and although Virgil is still annoyed, he takes some relief at having the aisle seat.

“How did I get stuck next to the emo nightmare?" he hears his neighbour grumble under his breath.

“Karma for being a nightmare yourself”, Virgil mutters, and the stranger at least has the decency to blush.

Their bickering might have continued indefinitely, but at that moment the MC steps up to the microphone to begin their welcome, and an unspoken truce descends.

*****

When at last it's over, Virgil sits back in his chair and sighs wearily. "That was even more boring than I thought it would be", he remarks to no one in particular.

Of course, the stranger beside him responds as though it were directed at him. “I’m surprised you heard any of it with your earphones in the whole time. I could hear your music all the way through!”

Virgil turns and raises an eyebrow. "Yeah? Well, maybe you wouldn't have if you hadn't been leaning over so close to me. You were practically on my lap!"

The stranger huffs, glaring back at him. “It’s not like I had a choice! It was the only way I could see past that mountain of a guy in front of me!”

“Well, sorry I didn’t realise you were so keen for a good view of some guy standing talking.” Virgil scowls. “So you could hear my music, huh? Is that why you kept tapping your fingers on your knee? Don’t think I didn’t notice.”

“I didn’t realise you were paying so much attention to my legs! And besides, I defy anyone not to tap their fingers along to Panic! At The Disco!”

“Wait, you recognised it?” Virgil frowns at the thoroughly preppy-looking guy next to him. “I wasn’t exactly the mainstream stuff. I didn’t take you for an emo.”

“If you must know, my soulmate's an emo, and he introduced me to them. I might not share all his tastes, but as a theatre kid, I always appreciate theatrical flair."

Oh right, soulmates are a thing. Virgil gives a grunt that could mean anything, turning his attention away from the stranger's continued rambling. He watches as more and more individuals and groups make their way to the exits. All the freshmen are meant to be here, which means Roman must be somewhere amongst them. For the first time, he almost regrets never asking for a photograph or more detailed physical description. But he always feared Roman would expect the same from him in return, and then be disappointed or put off by his ever-present hoodie and black eye shadow.

It doesn’t help that the vague description he’s been given of “Tall, with brown hair and blue eyes”, could fit far too many of the students here, including the one tapping a foot and making impatient noises beside him.

With a sigh, Virgil stands up, switching his music back on and turning up the volume as he waits for a gap in the flow of bodies. As soon as one appears, he steps into it, letting himself be absorbed and carried away towards the door. As he moves away, he’s distantly aware of his former seat-mate speaking, but he’s too stressed, too busy trying to blot out the strangers surrounding him to think of looking back.

~~*~~*~~*~~

Roman sighs, flopping dramatically backwards onto his bed. It's been a long day, and he wants to relax, but his mind buzzes restlessly with frustration.

Patton sent a text to say he’ll be getting dinner at the dining hall with Logan, and while he did say Roman was welcome to join them, Roman has no desire to play third wheel, thank you very much. Besides which, he can't shake the petty resentment that his hopes of a destiny-driven encounter with Virgil have apparently been dashed. Instead, he got stuck with some other emo, who, while admittedly very cute, had the cheek, the absolute bare-faced audacity to zone out while Roman was speaking to him and then walk away without even a goodbye!

With a huff, Roman rolls over and glares at the time. It’s 7:15 pm, earlier than his and Virgil’s usual chat time, but he needs to feel connected to his soulmate right now. With a surge of misery, he realises he’s lonely, as well as more envious of Patton and Logan than he’d like to admit.

Fumbling in a pocket, he pulls out the red glitter gel pen he reserves for soul-to-soul talks, and writes “Hey, stormcloud, are you free?” on his left arm.

After a few moments, a spidery dark purple reply writes itself onto his right arm. “Yeah, wanna talk now?”

"Patton's off with Logan, and I need to vent!" He underlines "vent" three times, as emphatic in writing as he would be out loud.

“Is that all I am to you? A listening arm?” It’s followed by their own version of a “:P”, to show that Virgil is joking.

“Of course not, my shadowling! But I’ve had the most boring day, and I'm lonely~".

“Yeah yeah, Logan’s ditched me too, remember? Did you make it to the assembly? I looked for you”.

Roman groans, then does his best to reproduce the sound in writing. “Uggghhh, I did, and I got stuck next to the most annoying guy ever!”

“Hah! Can’t have, because the most annoying guy was sitting next to me. He kept fidgeting and getting in my space through the whole thing”.

Roman grins, standing up and moving to the sink, where he rinses the red ink from his arm to make space for more, Virgil must have the same idea, because a moment later the purple text begins erasing itself too.

“I wish I could’ve sat with you”, he writes, as soon as his arm is dry.

“Same”. There’s a pause, and then, “Kinda regret not meeting you today”.

Roman stares at the words, running his left hand unconsciously through his hair. Destiny might have denied him a chance first meeting, but if Virgil has changed his mind, there’s no reason for them to hold back any longer. Decision made, he uncaps his pen and writes “Want to meet now?” before he can lose his nerve.

The seconds tick by with no response, not a drop of purple ink appearing, and he begins to worry he’s misjudged Virgil’s feelings. Then, at last, three letters appear, small but undeniable:

“Yes”.

“Yes!!” Roman echoes in a yell to the empty room, leaping up and grabbing his jacket from the back of his desk chair. Then he hesitates, sitting back down on the edge of the bed as he realises he doesn’t know where Virgil’s room is. Or even if he’s there, for that matter.

Besides which, while Virgil did accept the offer, his reply wasn’t exactly enthusiastic. Best to make certain he really wants to do this first.

“Are you sure? I don’t mind waiting”, Roman writes, adding a smiley face for good measure.

This time there is only a short pause before the words appear. “Yeah, the whole assembly thing made me wanna see you properly”.

Roman takes a deep breath, trying to still the tremor of excitement rushing through him. “Okay!” he writes back. “Want me to bring anything? I have a popcorn maker and every single Disney movie!”

“Seriously? You brought a freaking popcorn maker to college?”

“We always said we’d have movie nights when we finally met up, eating popcorn and talking all through the films!”

“You are so unbelievably extra”.

“You love it!”

“Yeah, I’m weird like that.”

“So, no popcorn?” Roman asks.

“Are you kidding? Of course bring popcorn!”

Roman grins.

*****

He takes his time making the popcorn, giving Virgil space to adjust to the change in plans. As he does, his thoughts drift to his grumpy seat-mate from earlier, and he remembers wincing as the guy picked at his chipped black nail polish during the endless speeches.

That gives him an idea…

“How about we paint our nails while we talk?” he suggests. “It’s relaxing and we’ll look good!”

“Sure”, appears on his arm. “I’ve only got black and purple though.”

“Fear not, my dark and stormy knight, I have every colour of the rainbow!” Roman grabs his makeup pouch and empties it onto his desk, separating out a selection of his favourites. These he puts back in the pouch, then it goes into his bag with the tub of popcorn.

“I’m ready to head out!” he writes on his arm. “Where’s your room?”

There’s a pause, then the address appears. But before Roman can lower his arm, Virgil adds, “Brace yourself for disappointment”.

“Why?” he writes back, frowning.

“I’m just… probably not gonna be as cool as you expect”.

“Don’t worry, I know you’re not as cool as me!” He replies immediately, then hesitates. Virgil has been vulnerable with him, and he should repay the honesty.

“I’m nervous too”, he admits, “But this is us, remember? We’ve spoken every day since we turned ten and our soul bond formed. We’ve listened to each others’ favourite music, watched each others’ favourite movies, and stayed up all night talking. We’ve shared our hopes, our fears, and our dreams. Even if we weren’t soulmates, you're my best friend, and I love you. Nothing's going to change that.

*****

It's a short walk across campus to Virgil's dorm, and nervous energy quickens Roman's strides. At last, he finds the right number door and gives a firm knock. Slowly, cautiously, it opens to reveal...

“You?!” Roman practically screeches.

“Seriously?!”

“I cannot believe this! Are you actually telling me you’re Virgil?”

“How many ginger-haired emos from Milwaukee do you think there are on campus?!”

“You’re Virgil...” There’s a pause as Roman’s expression visibly cycles from indignant, through dawning realisation, to settle on contrite. “Sorry about, you know...” He waves his arm, and Virgil raises an eyebrow.

“Sorry you clobbered me with your arm?”

“Well, yes… I was talking to Patton and didn’t notice you.”

“Yeah, I got that. Sorry I wasn’t, you know, watching where I was going.” Virgil looks down, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. “Look, I know I’m annoying. If you’re gonna leave, just go.”

Roman frowns. “Don’t be ridiculous. You might be annoying, but you’re my best friend! I came here to eat popcorn, riff on Disney movies, and hug you, and I’m not leaving until I’ve done all three!”

Virgil looks up, finally managing a lopsided smile. “You sure?”

“Of course! And besides, I bet I can be twice as annoying as you.”

With a snort, Virgil steps back, opening the door further to let Roman in. “Good to know fate made the two most annoying guys in the world soulmates.”

Roman grins. “Soulmates about to have the best evening ever!” he replies.

~~*~~*~~*~~ *~~

@creativity-killed-thekitten​ @the-prince-and-the-emo​ @shesavampirequeen​ @patton-in-name​ @pearls-of-patton​ @xxladystarlightxx​ @suyun-doo​ @softestlittlepuffball​ @evilmuffin​ @milomeepit​ @musikasworld​ @holy-anxiety-batman​ @quoth-the-sparrow​ @daring-elm​ @sandersfanders​

[theuniversitychallengereview]

UC 50.35 - Imperial vs Warwick

This is episode thirty five of this years University Challenge. Almost exactly one year ago, on 23rd March 2020, the UK was plunged into what we thought would be its only lockdown. Instead it was the first of going on three, four? Where does a lockdown end and a Tier 4 start? Manchester, where I live, has basically been in lockdown for most of the twelve months since then, and who knows how much longer this one is going to actually last. 

There is a peculiar magic to a revolution of the sun, with the circularity giving meaning to the meaningless marker of three hundred and sixty five days. Somehow it feels so much more momentous that a year will have passed than that a day less than a year has passed. You remember what you were doing as the lockdown was announced, where you watched Boris make his serious address from. The tingles of fear, and maybe even guilty nervous excitement made me restless. No one knew what any of it meant. So many things have changed since then, but in some ways we are exactly where we were. Stuck inside, nowhere to go, with no concept of when life will return to normal. 

There was also a University Challenge match on the 23rd March. I don’t know if I watched it on the day. Probably not. I wrote about it six days later, by which point I was working from home with a pile of books stacked underneath my laptop acting as a makeshift stand. There is something strange about being able to read exactly what I was thinking at the time everything was starting. The following paragraphs are taken directly from that blog, and it still feels like we are in the same limbo state.

What is going on? When I wrote the last blog it was pretty clear that we were in a dire situation, but the inaction of the Government left it feeling like we were in some kind of limbo state, just waiting for the disaster to hit us. But then action was taken. Lockdown.

We now know exactly what we have to do (I was going to list the ‘Stay Home’ instructions here, but if you’re getting your lockdown lowdown from a University Challenge blog then frankly there’s no hope for you anyway), but it still feels really surreal. You’ve never done a home workout in your life, but you’ve done two in the past three days. People say ‘social distancing’ as if its always been a well-known term that was commonly used in daily life. There are never any beans (screw your toilet paper shortages, its the beans that really matter).

We’re still in limbo, really, because we have no idea how long this is going to last. And we’re still waiting for the disaster to hit, because the worst of it hasn’t yet, and the lockdown won’t start properly helping for a few weeks. So what do we do? What can we do? You feel like you want to be distracted from all that is going on, but also to be clued up to the eyeballs with the latest news.

So we do what we can. We stay inside. We call our friends and family and play that stupid ‘chips and guac’ game on Houseparty. We take solace in books, or films, or TV…

As I did a year ago, I’ll try and distract you all (and myself too), with some words about a television quiz show. Let’s not bother with the rules, here’s your first starter for ten...

Imperial and Warwick have already played each other in this years tournament, with the Avonsiders coming out convincing winners, 200 to 120. They then beat another of the semi finalists, Magdalene, Cambridge, by 200 to 160. Fans of a nice round number, it seems. 

But I wouldn’t write Imperial off. They followed up their loss to Warwick with magnificent wins over King’s and Durham. Their skipper Kohn is the most in-form player left in the competition, and has averaged more than six starters a game. 

Having lost their first round match to Strathclyde, Imperial were given a reprieve via the high-scoring loser play-offs, and boy did they take advantage of it. This coincided with the gap in filming caused by Covid, and Kohn used the extra time to train intensely - think Stallone in Rocky but its just a guy furiously reading (with the same music playing, obviously).

Warwick, meanwhile, have had a relatively smooth path to the last four, winning by an average of 92.5 points. However, if you dive a bit deeper into those statistics, the margin has been decreasing each time (150, 100, 80, 40...), so if Imperial could get stuck into them early on then we’d have a real match on our hands. 

Kohn is quickest on the buzzer for the first starter, and they take three bonuses, with Kohn saying that ‘this is giving me strong Dr Faustus vibes’, before giving Dr Faustus as the correct answer for the third. His speed is his downfall on the next starter though, and he loses five points with a neg, allowing his opposite number Rout to pick up the scraps.

A very long-winded biology question falls to no one, before another Imperial neg, this time from Wong, let Braid in to take the lead for Warwick. An incredibly easy bonuse set on Shakespeare extended this for them, though they didn’t recognise ‘Night of the Living Dead’ from its description. 

Marrow, Imperial’s resident smiler, took the first picture starter to her evident delight, and a couple of bonuses tied the game at thirty fives. Braid is unlucky with his guess of ‘suffer no fools’ on the next starter - the answer is ‘suffer fools gladly’. 

A trademark rapid-buzz from Kohn took the lead back to London, before a second neg from Wong allowed Braid to level the game again. Imperial’s tactic seems to be to win the buzzer race, regardless of whether or not they know the answer. So far they have three negs to three correct starters. An inspired guess of semi-colon from Marrow stole back the initiative. Neither side could string together a run of starters yet. 

Not wanting to let Kohn have all the credit, Rout comes in super early on the next starter with Hamiltonian Operator. By now we have reached the music round, in a riveting but so-far low-scoring match. Kohn takes us to seventy apiece with the musical starter, giving Miles Davis and Dave Brubeck as his answer, even though the question had only asked for one person (to be fair to him, the question asked for ‘a bandleader and soloist’, making it seem as though they were two different people, but anyway, Paxman lets him off).

Both teams are making a dangerous habit of dropping bonuses, and six pass in succession with no correct answers. A pair of starters from Burrell, along with a few made five pointers, including some on Bulgarian football teams, gave Warwick the biggest lead of the match so far - fifty. 

Kohn isn’t content to give up so easily, and takes the second picture starter, along with a pair of bonuses. Braid stumbles on a chemical elements question, and again Kohn takes advantage. Dismissing some of the bonuses as too easy, Imperial close to within ten. 

Pollard gets his first starter of the evening with Yuri Gagarin, and a rare full set from Warwick gave them a thirty five point lead. A supremely clutch buzz from Kohn keeps Imperial in it, but Braid is quickest to identify/guess that a million seconds is two weeks (to the closest week), possibly putting the game beyond the reach of the Londoners. Paxman wastes some time by going on about how stupid it is to know that fact, and Warwick waste some more time with a lengthy conference on the bonuses. They are forty points clear, and probably heading to the final. 

But HANG ON!

Braid negs. Thirty five points. 

Kohn trips over his tongue, but gets the answer out in the end. Twenty five points. Could they do it?

No (sorry to have built up your hopes, if I did). The gong follows soon after, with Imperial still twenty five points adrift. 

Final Score: Imperial 135 - 160 Warwick

Probably a deserved win for Warwick that, but Imperial were an absolute delight and it was a pleasure to watch their evolution over the course of the tournament, especially Kohn’s performances on the buzzer. 

I’m looking forward to the second semi-final next week, which also promises to be a barnstormer. See you then.

If you’ve enjoyed this, but can’t wait until next week for another fix of University Challenge, then you can check out my Patreon, where I’ve been reviewing the 2015/16 series.

[theradicalscrivener]

Big Dick Energy

The idea behind this fic was inspired by a recent series of pics done by Gasaiv over on twitter. Although I may have “expanded” on the idea a bit ;)

Steven needs a serious pick-me-up if he is going to survive a day of classes on next to no sleep. Fortunately, there’s a store near campus that ought to carry just what he needs—an aptly named drink known as “Big Dick Energy”.

              Even before Steven had laid down for a nap, he knew the morning was going to be rough. He had gotten so caught up in the rush of the grand finale of the series that he was watching that he had to see it through to the bitter end in one sitting. As he laid down at 5 am to grab a few winks before his 8 am class, Steven quietly cursed Netflix and their business model. When his alarm inevitable blared in his ear little more than two hours later, Steven was feeling positively rancorous. He had had some double espresso days, but this, he knew, would require something even more drastic.

              Fortunately, there was a small convenience store right off campus that lay directly along his path from his dorm to class. Due to the oddities that are zoning rules, the convenience store was “on campus” for all intents and purposes, but it was not actually a campus establishment. As such, they were free to carry whatever wares they saw fit, and many of the items that lined their shelves could not be found anywhere else. This was just fine for Steven. He knew he needed something with enough caffeine to give a horse a heart murmur, and he doubted he’d find something like that at the campus stores.

              Steven perused the shelves of the shady establishment. He saw all the staples ranging from Starbucks to Coke and even some stuff he was sure was illegal in his state, but none of those were quite what he was looking for. He was just about to settle for a Red Bull when he saw it.

              On a shelf in the back of the store was a six pack of green and purple cans. Each can was emblazoned with the silhouette of the male member, and the name made it clear why it had such a logo. “Big Dick Energy” the cans read. That sounded like the kind of kick Steven needed to get through the day, so he hastily carried the cans up to the register, paid, and shoved the entire pack in his bag.

              Steven barely made it out of the shop before reaching into his bag and plucking one of the six cans.  He popped the top and quickly downed the contents of the entire can. 20 full fuid ounces of what tasted like berry fresh battery acid passed his tongue and flowed down his throat, burning every inch of the way. Steven let out a sound that was half sigh of refreshment and half groan of pain after doing the deed.

              The effects were almost instantaneous. Steven felt a jolt of energy coursing through his body, and something else as well. He felt warm and tingly all over – especially down in his nether regions. His cock felt nice and plumped up almost as if he was sporting a semi in his shorts. Steven was no stranger to energy drinks, but this was the first time he could ever claim to have been turned on by drinking one. He chalked it up to being partially sleep drunk and went on his way towards class.

              As he passed the engineering building, something caught his eye – his own reflection! The solid wall of tinted windows served as a mirror in which he could view himself, and he had to admit, he liked what he saw. He was sure it was just his sleep deprived brain playing tricks on him, but the bulge in his shorts was looking pretty choice. It was painfully obvious that he was free-balling (he had been too tired to get cleaned up for class and set out in his pajamas) but Steven doubted anyone would complain too much. His bulge looked amazing! Steven had always been painfully average down south, but today it looked like he had a solid eight inches of floppy dong with a pair of golf ball sized nuts to go along with his thick sausage. He chalked the plus-sized package up to a trick of the light caused by his lack of sleep. He just hoped his bulge looked half as hot to others as it looked to himself.

              Steven managed to slide into class right as the professor was getting ready to take roll. Roll was more of a formality than anything else at this point. This was a relatively small, discussion style class as opposed to one of those giant auditorium lectures. As such, everyone knew each other, and if anyone was missing, it was pretty obvious.

              Steven couldn’t be sure, but it felt like all eyes were on him as he crept in the door and made his way to his seat at the back of the room. There were a few audible gasps as well. Steven’s mind was racing. It felt like one of those dreams where he had shown up to class and forgotten his pants. Everyone’s eyes were glued to his crotch just like in his pantsless dreams, but Steven was absolutely sure he was both wide awake and fully clothed.

              Things seemed to calm down after Steven took his seat. With his plus-sized package safely hidden from view, the rest of the class had nothing to ogle, and soon things settled into the standard routine. The professor would go down the list and ask someone to speak up about what they read the previous day. Meanwhile, Steven found himself drifting in and out of consciousness. He was just so tired he could barely keep his eyes open. Even with a full can of Big Dick Energy coursing through his veins he was barely holding it together. This called for more drastic measures.

              Steven reached into his bag and fumbled blindly for another can. It didn’t take him long to find it, and once he had it, he quickly popped the top and power slammed the second can much as he had done the first.

              Once again, Steven felt a rush course through him. His skin felt like he had an electrical current running through it, and his cock felt twice as chubbed up as it had mere moments ago. He was amazed that he could even get hornier than he already was. He had been feeling hot and bothered since his first can. He had expected the pleasantly plumped sensation to die down as the day went on, but if anything, it had gotten more intense. Steven couldn’t help himself. His cock felt so amazing and he was so horny that he just could not keep his hands off of it. He slipped a hand beneath his desk and stroked the length of his shaft through his shorts.

              Something felt off. His cock felt massive! He wrapped his hand around the thick shaft, and it felt like he was gripping a pool noodle. His dick felt thicker than his wrist! There was no way this could be correct. Steven figured it had to be a trick of his sleep-deprived mind.

              Steven didn’t have long to contemplate just how huge his dick felt. Soon the sound of his own name being called snapped him back to reality.

              “Steven? Are you awake?” The professor asked.

              “Yessir,” Steven sputtered.

              “It’s your turn to present,” the professor said.

              “Present?” Steven asked.

              “Page thirteen. Third paragraph.” The professor explained.

              “Oh, right,” Steven said. He quickly flipped his book to the correct page and skipped the paragraph to get a feel for what he was supposed to be reading. Everything seemed pretty standard. He would read the paragraph and discuss what he thought of the contents. He had bullshitted his way through this class so far. Why stop now?

              Steven slid his seat back and stood up. No sooner had his crotch come into view from behind his desk than he heard the gasps from the entire class.

              “What the fuck!?” someone gasped.

              “No way…” Someone else murmured.

              “He’s huge!” another said.

              It seemed the whole class was fixated on Steven’s bulge. Steven tried not to pay attention to it and focus on his assignment, but it was proving impossible to do. No matter how hard he tried to focus, the thoughts in the back of his mind drowned out all else. He wasn’t that big, was he?

              Steven repositioned his book a little further from his chest, giving him a clear view straight down to his crotch, and even he had to gawp at what he saw. His cock was far too large for his own shorts! His once loose and airy basketball shorts were now packed to bursting with an enormous set of cock and balls. His soft cock had to be over a foot long! It was thicker than his forearm! He had two fat nuts the size of schoolyard kick balls. His package was so massive that the sheet weight of it was pulling his pants down. His entire well-kept crotch was on display as well as the first few inches of his massive cock!

              Steven tried to speed through his presentation as quickly as possible so he could get back behind his desk and take stock of his situation, but just knowing how massive and amazingly sexy his cock and balls had become was driving him wild. Add onto that the comments and leers from his fellow peers, his already enormous cock was quickly growing into a gigantic rod!

              As soon as his presentation was over, Steven ducked back behind his desk and tried to play it off as if nothing had happened, but the rest of the class wasn’t about to forget so quickly. Steven could see the sidelong glances and stares from his classmates and even the professor. The whole room was abuzz with whispers and comments as the class devolved into a conversation about Steven’s enormous package. Steven had to admit it felt pretty good to be so amazingly hung that just his bulge could stop an entire class dead in its tracks, but at the same time he couldn’t stop worrying. There was no way this was normal. His dick shouldn’t have just surged in size like this, and since everyone else around him was keenly aware of the changes as well, Steven could not write this off as just a trick of the mind. This was really real!

              There was so much chatter going on that the professor never did manage to get the class under control. Eventually the bell rang to release the class without so much as another presenter reading their segment. As soon as he heard the shrill ringing, Steven was out the door. He clutched his bag in front of his crotch and made a bee line for the bathroom. Steven quickly ducked into one of the stalls, hung his pack on the hook inside the door, and plopped his ass down on the toilet. He sat there for a moment and just stared in awe at his bulge. His package was beyond huge! His cock looked now far thicker than his arm, but he needed to be sure. He had to see the true size of it firsthand.

              Steven reached down and fished his bait and tackle out from the front of his shorts. Even just the sheer heft of his package amazed him. His cock was so heavy it was like hoisting a slab of beef, and his nuts were even more immense. Either hefty orb was like lifting a sack of flour. He had balls the size of extra ripe cantaloupe. If things kept going as they were going, his nuts would soon be big enough to take the prize at the state fair! Even just the thought of it made his already massive cock chub up a bit more.

              Steven silently chastised himself for finding his situation as hot as he did. He knew he should be horrified, not horny! And yet even as he grumbled under his breath, his cock steadily inflated in his hands. He was quickly flying at half-mast. His hands gripped his thick cock. His rod was so thick that he couldn’t even get his hands fully around it. His cock was thicker than his own neck! And as it got steadily harder and harder and stood upright in its full upright and locked position, Steven soon saw that it reached up to his chest. If it was just a little larger, he could lick the pre-drooling tip without even having to hunch over! Steven didn’t want to admit that the mere thought drove him wild, but the steady ramp up in pre made that painfully obvious.

              Steven was too far gone to stop then. The sheer amazement he felt as he stared down the barrel of his own cannon mixed with his hormones and drove him over the edge. All he wanted to do was see what his new and improved cock could do, and plus, it wasn’t like he would be able to get it back into his pants in its current state. One way or the other, he had to get it soft again, and the quickest way to do that would be to blast his spunk all over the stall.

              Steven hunched over and pressed his lips against the slit of his massive cock. Warm pre flooded his mouth. The taste of it, the sensation of his own mouth against his massive cock, the feeling of his colossal cock in his hands all conspired to make him hornier than he ever had been in his life. He almost creamed right then and there, but he managed to keep his load down. It wouldn’t do to blow so soon. He had plenty of time before his next class, and he wanted to savor this moment.

              Steven continued to suckle the tip of his own cock. He sucked down gulp after gulp of pre as he stroked his fat cock with both hands. He could feel his foreskin press against his face with each pump of his massive cock. He could feel his huge nuts swinging in time with his strokes. Feeling his kickball sized stones between his knees drove him wild. They were so huge and heavy. He loved how they felt, and in the back of his mind he found himself fantasizing about what it would be like if they were even larger.

              How large is too large? Is there even such a thing? In his hormone addled state, Steven couldn’t come up with an answer. All he knew was he was hornier than he had ever been, and he owed it all to his new and improved package. He had a cock beyond anything he had ever dreamed of. He had a dick to make even the biggest porn star gawk. Even just one of his nuts would completely eclipse the biggest porn stars entire cock and balls and then some!

              Steven knew he was reaching his limits. He could feel his massive balls tense up. He could feel his enormous cock shuddering in his hands. He wanted to hold back, but he knew it was a losing battle. He was just about to lean back and accept the climax when a sudden burst of clarity flooded his mind. If he came right then and there he was going to be drenched in spunk! On one hand that sounded hot as hell, but that small bit of clarity shining through the haze of his own arousal reminded him that if he coated himself in spunk, he’d have to attend his next class like that. Even so, part of Steven’s mind thought that sounded hot, but he still managed to fight for control of his own thoughts.

              Steven hopped up from his seat and aimed his massive cock at the toilet. His dick was so rigid that he couldn’t hope to push it far enough down to point at the bowl, so he had to lean over the toilet. He placed one hand against the far wall to steady himself and used the other hand to push his dick down. It took some finesse, but he managed to get in position before the dam broke, and when the dam broke, it broke hard!

              Steven was so flooded with carnal pleasure that he could barely stay standing. His whole body shuddered with orgasmic bliss as his massive balls pumped out shot after massive, gooey shot of spunk! Steven couldn’t believe how much he was cumming. Even with his new and improved cock and balls, the sheer volume of spunk was incredible. By the third spurt, Steven had completely filled the bowl! There was nothing Steven could do but watch in awe as his own cum began to spill over the rim. He just didn’t have any spare hands to reach the lever to flush it, and even if he did, he doubted it’d get the job done. His thick spunk would no doubt clog the pipes in short order. All he could do was continue to lean over the bowl and cum and cum again.

              Spunk slopped over the rim of the bowl and plopped onto the cold tile floor below. Spooge oozed outwards and gooshed into the neighboring stalls. Spunk pooled around Steven’s feet. He could feel the warm cum seeping through the canvas of his shoes, and still he kept cumming! By the time his wads finally began to taper off, there was a standing pool of spooge three inches thick in the bathroom.

              Steven was so winded that he wanted to collapse right then and there and bask in the afterglow, but that was not an option. For starters, there was nowhere for him to sit! The toilet was overflowing with spunk, and the floor was coated in jizz! The best he could hope for was to get out of the bathroom before anyone noticed the mess he had made and find somewhere else to collect his thoughts.

              Steven shoved his steadily deflating cock back into his shorts, slung his pack over his shoulder and plodded through the muck out of the bathroom and into the hall. He tried to act as casual as he could even as jizz seeped into the hall. Steven made pretty good time to his next destination. He had half a mind to place his pack over his crotch as he had done when he fled class earlier, but he decided not to. He was enjoying all the glances and stares he was getting from the student body. Seeing the awe in their faces filled him with no small amount of pride. The rush of pride also served to cause his cock to once again stir to life. Even though he had just flooded the bathroom with gallons upon gallons of cum, his balls seemed full all over again. Steven had half a mind to find another bathroom to destroy, but he knew he didn’t have that kind of time. His next class was coming up, and he couldn’t afford to miss the exam.

              Just thinking about the exam seemed to cause Steven’s exhaustion to come rushing back. Cumming like a firehose had really taken it out of him, not to mention the painful lack of sleep he was dealing with. It was obvious that if he hoped to get through the next class, he was going to need at least another can of Big Dick Energy.

Looking for more stories? 

Check the [Series List] to browse series and check out synopsis and kink list for each 

Or check the [Kink Compendium] to browse all stories and series based on fetish. 

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Take your favorite stories with you on the go with ebooks available at [Ziel’s Book Shop] 

If you like what you have read, consider [Buying me a Ko-Fi] or supporting me on [Patreon] Even just $1 goes a long way and there's even some perks for donating. Follow me on [Twitter] for story updates.

[reimenaashelyee]

Ask Me Anything: Finding Your Art Style

I get this species of art question so often that I now think it’s worth making a blog post to answer it (for posterity). The question usually goes something like this:

“How did you find your style of art?”

Which is a valid question. Unfortunately, this is a question with extremely vague and mundane answers. Note: these answers are very rooted to my particular development as an artist, though bits and pieces can be applied generally.

Answer 1:

Just draw. Yeah there’s really no secret to it – just keep drawing. All that practice will teach you what your eyes and your hands like, and what you like.

Answer 2:

Do a lot of studies – gesture drawings, anatomical studies, style studies, composition, etc. There are plenty of online gesture drawing tools listed on Google.

Observe life with your eye.

Experiment with different tools.

Take a closer look at drawings from artists you like and ask questions: why do you like it? What has the artist done to make that work appealing to you? Is it the lighting, the colour palette, the inking style, the way they stylise hands? Identify and pick up those elements and do your own spin on it. (This is different from tracing/copying, because you’re engaging in critical and analytical thought)

Find out your favourite artists’ influences and study those influences’ portfolio the same way as above.

Answer 3:

Consume art from outside your field and medium and genre. Film cinematography, theatre, set design, graphic design, packaging, music, physics, history, architecture, the list goes on.

Answer 4:

Figure out who you are as a person first, then artist. Find what you love and indulge in it, and put that love into everything you draw, no matter how little.

Answer 5: (specific)

I’ve always had my style since I was… 9? I rarely ever had anxiety over “finding a unique style”. What I would worry about, despite my strong artistic voice, was the immaturity of my skills – anatomy was trash, I didn’t know how to draw humans, some elements could be improved… which made sense cos I was a new artist. So between the ages 13 – 17 I really went in hard on Answers 1 to 4. I wrote a monthly journal cataloguing each thing I wanted to worked on, and I did exercises. And it’s helped a lot.

If you can can bother going through my Deviantart from the first art to the most recent one you can see the learning journey.

Growing as an artist takes a lot of time and a lot of effort. Avoid comparing yourself to artists your age group or younger who already have clocked in more hours, and avoid thinking it’s a difference of talent. It’s not. The difference between you and the other person is practice.

Answer 6: (specific)

But what is an artistic voice? I think it’s the essence of yourself – the way you observe and interpret the world – that can’t be helped. It shows as the little quirks that persist – maybe it’s a particular line style or a repeating motif or a colour palette.

For me, for example, I tend to stylise shapes and emphasise clear silhouettes, even when I attempt realism. This may or may not have influenced me into being a highly graphical illustrator. You won’t see me doing highly-rendered conceptual painterly drawings. That’s just not me.

Honestly I’d recommend not worrying about your artistic voice, or trying to force it out. An artistic voice is something that already lives within you. And if you say you can’t see it, that you don’t have it, it may just be an issue of self-confidence, rather than an issue of non-existence. You just haven’t reached the level where you can see it. And how do you get there? Answers 1 to 4.

Focus on expanding your foundational skills, critical thought and inspiration toolbox instead. Doing this will gradually build up your self-confidence. One day you’ll find that you have clearer eyes, and you’ll be able to look back and admire how much you’ve grown.

Answer 7 (specific):

Here is a list of my foundational influences – the ones that inspired me as I was developing my art. Chris Riddell, Shaun Tan, Emily Carroll, Dave McKean, Joann Sfar, Milt Kahl, Tadahiro Uesugi, Alessandro Barbucci, Tom Oreb.

Nowadays, my influences are all over the place. I don’t think I can point to one specific illustrator that majorly influences me anymore. From the top of my head:

40’s to 60’s stylised book illustration and animation. UPA animated shorts, JP Miller, the Provensen illustrators, Golden Book series, Soviet animation, 101 Dalmations.

Illuminated manuscripts from different cultures and history.

Early 20th century Japanese woodblock illustration and its 21st century descendent. Hamui Kawase, Tatsuro Kiuchi, Tadahiro Uesugi.

Rifle Paper & Co.

Wes Andersen.

Stop motion animation, especially from Laika.

European graphic novels (bande dessinee)

In Conclusion

Thematically, my advice is similar to the one in my Where Do You Get Your Inspiration? post — just chill, pal. Don’t force it. Engage in the world a lot. Do your thing.

This ‘Where do you find your style/inspiration?’ question has been going on since at least 15 year ago, but it definitely feels more urgent in this socmedia era of the internet with a rush to produce art that gets shared and becomes capital (social and financial). There’s a lot of pressure to come out with perfect and consumable art. Like Athena out of Zeus’ head. And it can look like you either need A Style, or have a particular genre of style, to be successful.

As someone who’s been drawing for more than a decade and has gradually become more professional, I can assure you what matters more is that you’ve a good work ethic and you love what you do. Your style, whatever it is, will become more clear as long as you put in the hours and the dedication.

Good luck with your journey.

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I keep a semi-active blog if you want to read more thoughts from me about craft (like this), my work, life, and all the things that bother me. (https://blog.reimenayee.com)

[terresdebrumestories]

Nile Week - Day 2: Sadness

Did I randomly make this part of the Bâtardverse and also kiiiiiind of a sequel to the previous snippet? Yes.

Do you need to know anything about the Bâtardverse to get it? Nothing beyond the fact that Bâtard is Booker's pet tortoise whom he crochets outfits for.

Do I regret posting this without a read more again? Yes, but less than I'd regret not posting it. I will edit if Tumblr allows.

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The strawberry rolls to a stop against Nile's white-socked foot, followed by the slow patter of tortoise feet crossing the living room--or whatever passes for it in the semi-dump they're occupying for the night. She sniffs and wipes at her eyes, curling up tighter on herself, a part of her ready to snap that she doesn't want company right now. A few minutes pass, however, without any indication of Booker following his pet, and so Nile looks down only to snort in involuntary laughter.

Bâtard's outfit of the day is a crocheted white coat complete with additional stethoscope and a thin wire poking out at the top of its shell, a clothespin-like end holding a ragged piece of paper up for Nile's perusal. She picks it up, taking a moment to appreciate the clean loops of Booker's stick-enforced penmanship, and reads: "Docteur Bâtard, professional listener" and then, in smaller but just as elegant cursive "10/10, would recommend - M. Booker" chuckling as she turns the paper around. This one has Booker's casual handwriting on it--still much more legible than average but not so obviously meant for a fountain pen--and reads "Consultation fees are one strawberry per session, first one on me."

By Nile's feet, the tortoise is chomping away at the fruit, delight much easier to read on its face than she would ever have imagined before meeting it. She looks at it for a moment, eyes still burning but not quite crying anymore, and then figures she might as well.

"I miss my mom," she tells Bâtard. "It's her sixty-fifth birthday today, and I can't even call her, let alone be with her!"

It feels stupid, in a way, to be sad for this. She can and will call her mother tomorrow, first thing in the morning--fournyears ago she wouldn't even have had that because her mother and brother thought she was dead. Now she's still forced to stay estranged, but there's the internet. It's a better deal than she thought she'd have, much better than anything Booker predicted!

But it's her mother's birthday--her mother who's growing old and greying at the temples, her mother who will not be there forever and whom Nile can't see nearly half as much as she would like to. Sometimes that fact hits her hard enough to split her heart in half, make her want to book the next flight to Chicago so she can sneak into her brother's room and tickle him awake before they go make their mom breakfast in bed.

"I want to be there so bad," Nile tells Bâtard. "The others, they're great but it's not--it isn't the same and I want--I want my mom."

She sniffs, unable to hold the tears at bay any longer, and rests her forehead on her knees even as the tip of her finger finds Bâtard's head, stroking lightly as the little beast keeps eating, pushing back at her finger with every chomp. She sobs for a long time, alone in the kitchen of their latest safehouse, until she finds her voice again and whispers:

"I don't want to not be there when she goes. I don't want to find out from my brother, and then find out about his death from his wife or his kids who'll think--I don't even know who they'll think I am! I don't want to be a ghost in their lives! I wish I'd never listened to Booker!"

She knocks on the ground with her heel, once, and sobs until she coughs with it. Then she wipes her eyes and face dry, or as much as she can given that she's got no tissue with her, and grabs a piece of lettuce from the fridge for Bâtard. She goes back to her previous spot on the floor, mindful of the fact that it's nearly two AM and at least two, possibly three of the others are asleep.

"That wasn't fair," she tells the tortoise. "He couldn't have known. And he was trying to help. And it's not like I won't lose them eventually anyway it's just...well. It's hard. There's a reason for this, somewhere, I'm sure, but I can't see it and it's... It's hard."

Nile sniffs again, marginally lighter than she felt a few minutes ago. She still misses her mother something fierce, but it feels easier to bear now, at least. With a small smile, she rummages for a pen and, smoothing the little note on the table, adds under Booker's fake review: "Best therapy tortoise I've ever consulted! - N. Freeman". She's about to set the tortoise back on its way to Booker's room when, seized with inspiration, she snaps a picture of him and send it to her mother.

"I was sad I couldn't see you for your birthday so I got professional help" she writes in the caption. Only then does she release Bâtard to his rightful owner, smiling when she hears Booker laugh--muffled but distinct--at her note.

The best part, though, is waking up to an email from her mother that contains nothing more than a picture of a heart-shaped strawberry.

[gluten-free-okami]

@klonoadreams inspired me after I asked if she knew about Slayers that somehow minorly spiralled into this, and gave me consent to use Yuu(now with Crowley as her possible last name), or THE FLOOF, from her Twisted Wonderland fanfic, Counting Sheep, which I GREATLY recommend for fluff and good character interaction, all of which is backed up by a very talented author. Also, I don't know how to make this a Read More post, so it's a long post. If you know how to make this a read more, could you please tell me?

Also, I have a name for this, using Slayers naming theme:

Slayers: Twisted Wonderland

Anyways, background! You see, Twisted Wonderland is one of four worlds created by The Lord of Nightmares, aka Lucifer, or L-Sama if you want to be BORING(hello personal bias) that has both Mazuko and Shinzuko, aka Demons and Gods, and is the world Death Fog(DF for short) hails from.

You see, long ago DF was fighting his Shinzuko counterpart, White Dragon(WD for short), and was actually WINNING because his body was essentially made out of Semi-solid fog that he can make nonsolid at will, making it VERY hard to not only get a decent hit in on him or do any lasting damage, but also makes it really hard to seal him away. He was used to splitting up his power via splitting himself apart, so method used on Ruby Eye Shabranigdu wouldn't work, they couldn't seal himaway somewhere since it's almost if not outright impossible to prevent air from going where it wants to, so via riding on air currents or just dispersing himself in tiny air particles he would just exit where/whatever he was imprisoned, that and since he could manipulate death, after all he is called *Death* Fog, so sealing him into a living being would just be the stupidest move.

However, WD had a plan. You see, unlike other Shinzuko he not only realized that he can die, but eventually even without the constant threat of the Mazuko, their world will eventually go back into The Sea of Chaos. However, he also realized that it might take centuries before a dead world would erode enough to return to The Sea of Chaos, and after alot of thought, he came to a conclusion. So, he called for a talk under a nonaggression pact, which DF warily accepted, if only because DF knew that if WD did try tk attack him, their attacks wouldn't really affect him. So they met, and WD explained his reasoning. Due to seeing various forms of civilizations rise and fall, he realized that eventually the world will rot away, but it would take a long time to fully rot away, and that their might not be enough energy for when it returns to The Sea of Chaos for Lucifer to recreate with life(She could but he didn't know that). So, he wanted to make a deal with DF. When the world was eventually rotted enough, the DF and the other Mazuko are to mercy kill it, thus allowing it to return to The Sea of Chaos, and allowing Lucifer to recreate it. After she does so, he and the other Shinzuko will help life get back on its feet, thus letting it begin again. The Mazuko get to eventually destroy the world, the Shinzuko get to help life prosper, and those that live in it don't have to worry that DF will do something to destroy the world they live in. Everyone wins, and neither DF and WD will die because of this war. Sure there will be dissenters, but they can deal with them when they arise. DF agreed, because even if he won't be able to destroy the world as soon as he likes, it would eventually be destroyed, so he can be patient. Besides, DF can admit that doing it this way may please Lucifer, and considering Hellmaster's word choice when talking about/to her and how Xellous was immediately respectful towards her, no questions asked, I theorize that Mazuko are a lot closer to her than they're Shinzuko counterparts.

However, near the end of the negotiations, WD asked DF if he would get rid of a certain curse he casted on the mortals, that curse being that using magic forms Blot, and to much Blot can cause the Mage to Overblot. DF was in a good mood and agreed, and honestly wanted to see the chaos of this particular curse all of a sudden breaking for no apparent reason, only for him to freeze up, much to WD's confusion. The reason he freezed up? Somehow, someway, his curse became so tightly entwined with the mortals, that freeing them of that curse would cause them to most likely die, something that DF never intended to happen. Cue DF turning to WD to ask if he or his Shinzuko ever tried to mess with the curse, and when WD denied it DF and WD came to a horrible conclusion, either the mortals simply adapted to the curse, or they already have traitors in they're groups that deliberately messed with the curse. DF and WD both agreed that they shouldn't keep this a secret, and so both of them agreed that upon leaving this meeting, they will spread the word around in hopes of finding out if there are traitors or not, while WD planning on also informing the mortals about the truce he and DF agreed on, and what the Mazuko will eventually do, even if it isn't in this lifetime.

Anyways, completely changing the subject, you see, before DF's and WD's war, The Lord of Nightmares grew curious to see what would happen if they where to make a world without Mazuko and Shinzuko. Would that world's inhabitants still manage to use Magic, or would they evolve to not use Magic? She was curious, and thus she created that world, and many others like it but also somewhat different to see how they differentiate, and one of those worlds being the world Yuu is from.

And before you ask, each of those worlds could be worlds that we see as fiction, like a world where the Harry Potter books take place, or a world like our own. Hell, we could be in a world The Lord of Nightmares created, and we would never know! So I suggest you don't think to hard about all the other worlds without Mazuko or Shinzuko. After all, they aren't important for this, story, outline, thing.

And that's the background for this, story, outline, thing. Again, Yuu belongs to @klonoadreams, not me, and I'm just making this little AU. And before someone asks, DF and WD won't really be there in Twisted Wonderland, mostly because they prefer to sit back and watch what happens, and when it comes to DF preferably with Popcorn. Essentially, they take a backseat in the Astral Realm, and only really interact with the world in mortal forms so they don't accidentally destroy either a small town or blot out the sun. This is also how DF gets his Popcorn. Seriously it's his favorite food at this rate.